


More Than One Thing

by everytimeyougo, hystericalwomannovelist



Category: The Good Wife (TV)
Genre: Comedic Sex Mishaps, F/M, Futurefic, Inaccurate Political Processes, Original Characters - Freeform, Reconciliation Fic, The Original Spinoff, fixit fic, fluffy smutty angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-08-15 09:53:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 52
Words: 132,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8051779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everytimeyougo/pseuds/everytimeyougo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hystericalwomannovelist/pseuds/hystericalwomannovelist
Summary: "People are always more than one thing, Diane." Kurt and Diane rebuild.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> We feel it is only fair to warn you that this story takes place in a universe where the cheating accusation is true. We know this may make some shippers not want to read the story, and we completely understand. 
> 
> Given everything we have learned about this couple through seven years of lovely development, the very last thing we would have expected or believed was that their marriage could end in infidelity. But, in our viewing of the finale, that appears to be what canon has shown. This story is our attempt to take that awful moment, make as much sense of it as we can, and show how they can find their way out of it, perhaps even stronger than ever. We know some readers would prefer to believe all is well unless the worst is proven. To us, it was helpful to do the opposite.
> 
> We hope that you can enjoy this story even if it begins in a sad place, and trust us to see them through all the highs and lows on the way to the ending they deserve. We think they are strong enough to face even the worst-case scenario. We think their relationship is worth fighting for and supporting even through the ugliest possible obstacles. It isn’t exactly what we always wanted for them, but in writing this we have created something we at least feel puts things right. This was highly therapeutic to us as writers, and we hope it can do the same for you as a reader. 
> 
> If you do choose to read, you should know that while the prologue is necessary to understand all that comes next, its tone is not representative of the story as a whole. We have posted the first chapter at the same time for that reason. This story is long, approximately 50 chapters, and it’s 95% complete. Updates will be regular, and we hope to have it all posted before the spinoff premieres.
> 
> So, if you’re still with us, enjoy! We guarantee a happy ending.
> 
> Lauren & Erin

_"Isn’t it true, Mr. McVeigh, that you’ve had an affair with Holly Westfall."_

Somehow, she continues to live in a world where these words exist. She gets up; she goes to work. She rids her workplace of the woman who betrayed her in the most public way possible and she wonders if this should make her feel better.

It doesn't.

Neither does getting away, despite all the well-meaning people who kept telling her it would. All it does is give her too much time to think. She gives up after a day.

And still she does not talk to him.

He leaves message after message on her voicemail and she listens to them all, over and over again as if through repetition the words will somehow change from tearful apologies to believable denials. It must be some kind of mistake. He wouldn't do this, not the honourable man she married, not her cowboy.

At first the calls come every day, multiple times a day, but as time passes they become less frequent. He's losing hope; she can hear it in his voice: the sadness, the resignation. She wants to be relieved, but somehow she's not.

"You have to talk to me eventually, Diane," the most recent message says. "We can't go on like this forever."

She's knows he's right. She has to make a decision, one way or another. This state of limbo isn't fair to either of them. _Like he was fair to you?_ a niggling voice reminds her, and her throat closes over again.

 ***

"How many," she asks, her own voice so rough and broken she doesn't recognise it. They sit at her dining room table, stiffly and at opposite ends. It feels almost like a board meeting and that gives her some illusion of control.

"How many?" he repeats, his brow creased. "I don't..." He gestures helplessly.

"Women, Kurt. How many times have you made a fool of me? All those pretty young students...I had actually started to think it was funny how those girls would attach themselves to you when you had no interest in them." She gives up fighting the tears that stream down her face. "Joke's on me, right?"

"No!" He looks horrified. "No, Diane. It's not...I never. This was the only time, I promise."

"You promise," she repeats bitterly. "Well, as long as you promise. So when was it? Where?"

He sighs, shakes his head. "Does it matter? I fucked up. How will knowing the details make it better?"

"You don't get to decide what makes me feel better!" she snaps. In her lap away from his sight, her fingernails bite into her palms.

And so he tells her. He was away on a job in Miami. She remembers the trip, the last one he made before his abrupt retirement. More time apart, but it had become so commonplace by then, a three-week absence barely rated a mention. She remembers making a wildly optimistic suggestion about flying down for a weekend. It hadn’t happened. It never did. If he had been disappointed, he hadn't let on.

She feels like she's underwater, slowly drowning in her own despair and regret. It fills her ears, her mouth, her lungs, her mind, until there is no room for anything else. She looks at him across the table and sees a stranger.

The story emerges haltingly, as he looks anywhere but at her. She watches his lips move, but he could be speaking a foreign language for all the meaning she's able to take from what he’s saying. Occasionally a word, a phrase, penetrates the tidal waves of pain sweeping over her - _too much to drink, involved years before, didn't mean anything, just sex, over as soon as I saw you again, I'm so, so sorry, I love you._ The words are horrible, ugly cliches she never wanted to hear from his mouth. And yet here they are.

Abruptly she stands, runs to the bathroom and vomits, the sick feeling she's been carrying around since she first laid eyes on that woman finally demanding acknowledgement. For untold minutes she crouches in front of the toilet, heaving until her stomach is empty and her legs scream in protest. Slowly, hand on the counter, she levers herself upright. Hands shaking uncontrollably, she pulls a length of paper from the roll to wipe her mouth.

Heavy footsteps approach, and he knocks twice on the door. "Diane? Are you okay?"

Is she okay? The question is so absurd she laughs out loud, the sound harsh and mirthless.

"I'm sorry," he says again. "Do you want me to leave?"

_No!_

"Yes."

***

She wants to stop loving him, wants to push him away so hard that he’ll never find his way back. She wants to forgive him, to invite him back into her home and her bed and pretend the last few months never happened. She feels weak, indecisive, _pathetic_ because she’s wholly incapable of choosing between the two extremes and she can’t seem to find the middle ground. Maybe there isn’t any.  

She wants to forget she ever met him.

They sit together on the couch, not talking, not doing anything but drowning in their own misery again and again and suddenly she just _can’t_. Can’t continue to exist in this awful limbo for another moment; can no longer balance on this precipice.

She has to jump.

Abruptly she stands and turns in place, then kneels on the couch beside him, taking his face in her hands. When he opens his mouth – to encourage her, or to protest, she doesn’t know and doesn’t wait to find out – she presses her lips to his. If she’s shocked him, he recovers quickly, kissing her back like he’s a man dying of thirst in the desert and her kiss is an unexpected oasis.

His arms slide around her waist as he pulls her roughly into his lap, his grip on her like a vice as they devour each other.

Minutes pass, or maybe only seconds, she doesn’t know or care, but suddenly he’s pulling back, wrenching his face from between her hands. She refuses to meet his eyes, knows he’s probably looking at her like he’s terrified this isn’t real, and maybe it isn’t, but they can make it real. If they just force everything else from their minds and concentrate only on _this_ , they can make it real.

He opens his mouth to speak and she knows, _knows_ , she can’t listen to anything he has to say right now, so she kisses him again, hard and insistent, then backs away only by a fraction of an inch, just enough to form words.

“I need this, Kurt. I need to feel something besides anger, besides loss and pain and fear. Please, I just, I need to feel you. Please don’t talk.” She’s practically begging him not to break this spell, whatever it is, and when she squirms in his lap and he reflexively pushes his hard cock up against the underside of her thigh, she knows then he won’t stop, not now, not even if she breaks them both in two.

Twisting around to straddle him, she takes his face his her hands again and pulls him to her, shoving her tongue in his mouth and grinding hard against him. His fingers grip her hips so tightly it almost hurts, but right now physical pain is a welcome distraction to her emotions. Meaning to encourage that line of thought, she breaks their kiss and buries her face in the crook of his neck, biting down on the first skin she tastes.

“Fuck, Diane,” he curses and the sound of her own name only spurs her on. Reaching down, she grabs his t-shirt on each side and yanks it free of his jeans, tugging until he raises his arms so she can pull it off over his head. She tosses over her shoulder and only then looks him in the eye for the first time since this all began.

It's already over and some part of her knows it, knows it by the sting of tears that rise in her own eyes, by the way she wants instantly to look away. Her eyes flood over until she can no longer see him and she is grateful.

_But if they can just get through this..._ stubbornly, madly, she holds on to the thought that they can rebuild something physically where all words have failed. If they can just get through this, then she will learn to put the past behind her. Then she will remember the man he had always been to her. Then they will find their way back to one another. She is so tired of talking, and words had never done very much for them anyhow.

She slides off his lap again and pulls him down after her, the full weight of him hard and real and tangible, everything endless _thinking_ and _talking_ could never be. She closes her legs around him, her arms holding him like a vise, willing him to smother her, to consume her, to crush every last breath and thought and feeling out of her so she can start anew.

But he has seen her tears, and he is kissing them away now, slow, soft kisses diverting the stream down one cheek and then the other. His tenderness is not what she needs now, will not make her forget. His gentle hands slipping under her shirt and soothing over her bare skin can only remind her there are wounds that need healing. And remind her where those hands have been.

He should know what she needs, but she will show him if she has to, pulling his face to hers again and kissing him hungrily, grinding hard against him until he gives in with a low moan. Did _she_ ever have to work this hard for it, or was he was all too easy to break? She shoves the thought away and pulls him closer, holds him impossibly still closer. And he touches her like she wants him to then, rough, needy, full of lust and love and everything she feared was gone all these months, feared was gone forever.

His hands move over her in the ways he knows she likes, the ways that should _work_ , and she struggles to lose herself as she always inevitably does. But he feels somehow further and further away, as if this were happening to somebody else. Did he touch _her_ this way too, or are there other, different ways he touches her, because he knows what she likes just as well? And which would be worse?

He whispers her name as he presses hard against her, and it brings her back to him for a moment, but it is the ghost of that other name that lingers on the edge of her mind, imagining how it sounds in his voice when he comes. He whispers his love, reverent as ever, but the words sound hollow now, just as easily said in a hotel bed after four beers.

She wants to return the words, wants to so badly she could scream, _I love you._ Always, she had said. She had meant it. She knows now, she still does. _Always._

"Stop. Stop, I can't." These are the words that rise from her throat instead.

He backs off immediately, his eyes filled with concern she can't bear to see as she pulls herself to sit upright again, straightening her skirt around her knees. She is never going to stop feeling this way; she knows this just as certainly. Never. _Never._

She can’t continue like this.

"I need you to go," she says, looking straight ahead at nothing, numb. Done.

He begins to protest, but stops himself. She doesn't look up again to see him cry, although she knows he does. She doesn't look up again to watch him walk out without another word.

***

The next day, she calls David into her office and asks him to get the paperwork ready. It's complete and filed before lunch.

He calls almost immediately after he receives the documents. She picks up the phone, but says nothing. She has so little energy left to give this.

"Diane...? Are you there...?"

She can tell by the sound of his voice he is stricken, has been crying again, and the anger swells up in her again. How _dare_ he. He is the one who chose this for them. Him, not her.  "Yes," she says shortly.

"Diane, we need to talk - I'll sign this if that's what you want, but - please...." He trails off, cutting short the tremble in his voice.

She closes her eyes resolutely, steeling herself. She has made up her mind - she can't keep letting him make her doubt. "There's nothing left to say, Kurt."

He is silent for a long moment. "Just tell me, is this really what you want?"

She closes her eyes more tightly, holding back tears now, useless tears she wishes to hell she could stop. She knows he means it; he'll do whatever she wants. He'll sign the papers, he'll go to court, he won't make a fuss about anything, he'll move out of town probably to make sure he never bothers her again, he'll leave her life completely, if that's what she wants. The tears are rolling silently down her cheeks now. She swipes them away angrily, steadying herself so that her voice doesn't betray her. "I want to be married to the man I knew. But we can't go back, Kurt. Goodbye."


	2. Chapter 2

And so, her marriage had ended, not with a bang, but a whimper. Looking back, with the perspective afforded to her by the passage of time, she wonders if she acted too hastily. She does not take any of the blame for his infidelity - betraying her in that way was his choice and his alone. But was she innocent in the degradation of their relationship? In this area, she's less certain. But she tries not to think about it. After all, it hardly matters now.

It's been eighteen months since she's seen him, and two years since that awful day in court. Very little in her life has changed in that time, yet everything is different. She is different. She wonders if he'll see that.

She pushes open the restaurant door, walks over to the edge of the dining room and looks around.She sees him first, waiting at a table alone and staring off at nothing, as expressionless and hard to read as always. A flutter of nerves courses through her at the first sight of him, but vanishes just as quickly as he looks up and meets her gaze.

She gives a little wave and strides toward him, smiling. She wasn't sure how she would feel, seeing him again after all this time, after pushing him so far out of her mind and her life -- but to her surprise, she finds her instinctive reaction is... happiness. There is an awkward moment as he stands to greet her and neither is sure whether a hug or a kiss on the cheek or a safe distance of three feet at all times is appropriate. She settles for touching him lightly on the arm and taking her seat in a hurry, laughing at how surreal - and yet strangely natural - this feels.

Her laugh seems to disorient him for a moment, sitting opposite her with a dazed hint of a smile. So much has changed - and so little. He catches himself and searches for something, anything to say, landing on "Well, you look great," and looking as if he immediately regrets it.

She can almost read his mind, knows he is wondering if he has any right to those words now. She takes a long look at him, the same beautiful silvery hair, the beard just a little fuller than he'd worn it with her.

"So do you," she says softly, affirming his right to such casual intimacies. "So... What have you been up to?"

“Teaching,” he says, with a shrug. “Northwestern.”

Teaching. Her stomach lurches at the thought of him surrounded by pretty young students throwing themselves at him, begging for attention he is only too happy to give. _No,_ she tells herself. It wasn’t like that; she _knows_ it wasn’t. He had explained how his relationship with Holly began years after she was a student, and even at the height of her anger, that much had rung true. She forces herself to smile, but her first thoughts must have shown on her face.

“Diane,” he begins, eyes solemn, but she holds up her hand to prevent him from finishing.

“Let’s not, okay?”

He nods, accepting her terms of engagement. “What about you? Still at the firm? What’s it called these days?” He’s teasing her. No one else listening would have picked up on the slight change in tone, or the brief quirk of his lips, but she does. She still does, after all this time.

“Lockhart and Associates,” she says with a wry smile. “I was tired of keeping the stationers and sign companies in business.”

He nods. “Wise.”

They fall silent when the waiter approaches, leaving menus and taking their drink orders. Kurt orders beer, and as she requests white wine, she’s reminded suddenly of their first date. What would she have thought back then if someone had told her what was to come? She had tried to walk away from him then. Would she have been better off if she hadn’t returned? If she hadn’t gone to bed with him that night? If she hadn’t fallen in love with him? Watching him across the table now, she knows she wouldn’t have been. She can’t regret them.

He notices her staring and their eyes catch like rough skin against silk. “Diane,” he asks. “Why am I here?”

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "It sounds so silly, now that we're here. But I thought you ought to know." The waiter reappears with their drinks in hand and Diane turns her head away, hiding the emotion that has suddenly washed over her features.

"Do you all know what you'd like to order?" he asks with grating cheerfulness.

Kurt shakes his head, not looking up, his concerned eyes fixed on Diane. "Give us some time." He waits for the young man to walk away before leaning forward and asking her softly, "Is everything okay? Diane, are _you_ okay?"

She turns back to him, smiling thinly and regaining her composure. "I'm fine," she assures him. "I've been really good, actually."

"I'm glad," he says, and though she's sure he genuinely is, she knows there is some part of him mentally revising the statement to 'she's good - without me.' She knows, because she wouldn't be able to stop the same dark thought.

"It's Justice, Kurt. She died last week." Her voice rises and her pace quickens then, slightly embarrassed, almost explaining herself. "She's just a dog, I know, but I thought you were fond of her, in your way, and--"

"Diane," he stops her gently. "She wasn't just a dog. She was the best."

"She really was," Diane agrees, smiling at the memories. As their eyes lock again, flashes of them play through her mind: Justice running with wild abandon at the farm, free after years of the city dog lifestyle; the way she looked from one to the other every time they were engaged in an argument, yipping as if to tell them to stop (how could she know it was almost always a prelude to sex?); finding the dog stretched out along Kurt's side when she came home from work late, both of them having given her up and fallen asleep, Justice's chin resting on his chest. "Anyway," she clears her throat. "I thought you should know."

"I'm so sorry, Diane but you gave her a good life," he says, and he's so sincere she doesn't feel silly at all anymore.

She nods, pulling herself up straight and taking a long sip of her wine. "I've gotten better at taking loss in stride, I suppose." It was meant as a lighthearted remark, but she realizes it sounds like anything but the moment it has left her lips. "I'm sorry - I didn't mean..." She waves her hand between them. "Well, maybe I did mean. I don't really know anymore."

He is studying her now, trying to understand. He has always done that, and it unnerves now her just as it did on that first date so many years ago. Silently taking her in, figuring her out. Or at least appearing content to make the attempt his life's pursuit. If he has made any sense of her now, she wishes he'd share it. None of this feels at all like she had expected. But whatever it is, she realizes, it most certainly doesn't feel like loss. Not anymore.

The waiter tries again for their orders, and this time he’s successful. Diane orders grilled salmon and asparagus, her eyebrows shooting up when Kurt requests the same.

“No steak?” she asks. “Who are you, and what have you done with my hu…ex-husband?” Her throat burns at her near slip, but if Kurt notices, he doesn’t comment.

“Doctor wants me to lay off the red meat,” he says, gruffness in his tone telling her all she needs to know about his opinion of that medical advice. The fact that he was actually following it was nothing short of miraculous… In some corner of her mind an alarm sounds. _He’s following it._

“Kurt, is everything all right?”

“Fine.” But he’s not looking at her.

“Kurt,” she repeats, falling without thinking into the cajoling tone she’s always affected when trying, endlessly trying, to get him to talk to her.

He heaves out a breath, then met her eyes steadily. “I had an…episode…a while ago. But it was no big deal. I’m fine.”

“An episode? A heart attack? Kurt, you had a heart attack?” She’s stunned. How could he not have called her? Her dog died and she could think of nothing other than needing to tell him, and here _he_ almost dies and he doesn’t call her?

She’s still staring him, open-mouthed, when he nods. “You could call it that.”

Her hand rises to cover her mouth, her head swinging from side to side of its own volition, tears pricking the back of her eyes. He had a heart attack. He could have died, and she would have read about it in the goddamned newspaper, like they were strangers.

"You have to tell me these things!" She is almost scolding him now. The absurdity of it occurs to her, but does not stop her. "Did you even think of telling me?"

"Yeah," he says, taking a long drink, regarding her warily but with some amusement. "I thought about it."

It clicks suddenly, and she sits back, relenting. She was the one, after all, who had said to him that last awful time, _don't call, don't leave voicemails, don't stop by, don't write anymore, please, I can't._ He had only done what she asked.

"You should have told me," she insists quietly, all the same. "Are you all right now? I mean, really all right?"

He puts up his hands as if to say he is holding nothing back, not sparing her anything. "Doctor says if I look after my heart it'll look after me."

"All the salads I tried to get you to eat, and then I'd find you in some secret stash of potato chips at midnight!" she laughs. "And the yoga!"

He rolls his eyes good-naturedly. "Yeah, you did your best with me."

They go quiet for a moment; in every lighthearted moment, there is always some landmine ready to go off. Did she? She wonders. Did she really do her best?

"Well," he breaks the silence first, muttering wryly, "it's good to know you don't hate me enough to want me dead, at least."

She smiles slightly. "I never hated you. Through the worst of it, I never could get the hang of hating you. I wanted to, sure..." She trails off, waving it away. "I'm glad you're all right. And next time anything like that happens -- tell me, please?"

He returns the smile. "I'll know that now."

Their entrees arrive and the conversation lightens, turns to shared anecdotes about mutual acquaintances, their work, politics and current events. It’s almost like old times she thinks, as she regards him thoughtfully over her after-dinner coffee. She had forgotten how much she actually _likes_ this man, underneath everything else.

“What?” he asks, noticing her attention, his hand rising to stroke his beard. “Do I have something on my face?”

She laughs, returns her cup to the table. “No, no. I was just thinking.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask. About what?” The words are joking; his tone is not.

“I’m almost afraid to answer,” she agrees, but she knows already she’s going to. “I was thinking about you. About me. Us. I miss this. I miss you.” Her voice cracks on the last sentence, and she moves her hands to her lap, balling them up tightly under the table. This is a risk. There’s been enough hurt between them and she shouldn’t be poking around for more. But she really is different now. Maybe they can be different too. Slowly, cautiously, _different_.

“Look, I don’t know what this means,” she continues, “or if it can lead to anything, or even if I want it to. But if maybe you miss me too…” She continues speaking, rambling really, not even listening to herself any longer. He’s the only one who _does this to her_. She hasn’t thought this out, has carefully avoided acknowledging, even to herself, that this was her hope when she emailed him in the predawn hours two days ago and suggested this meeting. She hasn’t been sleeping well since Justice, that’s all. She’s sleep deprived and not thinking and she should probably stop talking now. She closes her mouth mid-word.

As usual, his face gives nothing away.

"Well, say something," she bursts out at last, somewhere between a laugh and a plea.

"Sorry, I -- that's the last thing I expected you to say, that's all," he says. He still hasn't answered the question, and his face and voice still betray nothing. Her heart sinks, and she wishes she had never said anything at all. That's as good as an answer. The last time she saw him, he would have jumped at the chance, tried anything to make it work. That he's even hesitating should tell her everything she needs to know.

"It's the last thing I expected to say, myself," she says lightly, hoping to mirror his indifference. "Forget I said it -- I was caught up in the moment."

He is quietly studying her again, and she feels herself melting under his gaze. Why, how, does he still have this effect on her, after everything, after all this time?

"Do you want me to forget?" he asks softly.

Diane sighs, suddenly exhausted by this. Things had been going so well -- she never should have pushed it. If they had just talked about everything in the world but _them_ she could have walked out of here unscathed. But too late to turn back now. "Tell me what _you_ want, for once," she snaps.

His eyebrows shoot up at this, his face finally registering some surprise at where this was going. "I thought I made that pretty clear, Diane."

She shakes her head, tears pricking at her eyes now. To hell with it -- let him see he still has the power to hurt her.

He leans forward, eyes searching hers. "I've left you alone for your sake, Diane, not mine. I always wanted -- I still want..." He trails off, stopping when he sees a tear fall down her cheek, then another.

She wipes them away hastily. She understands now: he's protecting her. He's protecting himself. He's protecting them, or whatever fragile chance there is of regaining a 'them'. He's afraid to say too much, too soon, scarred by all the times he tried and was met with her rage or her tears. And here she was crying again -- he's afraid. He's just as afraid as she is.

She pulls herself together and finds a weak smile for him. "We don't have to decide anything right now," she says. "But it's been so good just to see you... Do you think you'd want to again sometime?"

"Yes," he says tersely, and for now, that is all she needs to hear.


	3. Chapter 3

He walks her to her car, several blocks away from the restaurant. It’s a warm night for so early into spring, the stars shining in a cloudless sky. She makes some inane comment about them and his smirk reminds her of how pitiful these city stars actually are in comparison to those in his country skies. 

“Don’t say it,” she advises. 

He just shakes his head, familiar half-smile teasing at his lips. 

It’s a constant internal battle not to take his arm as they walk along. Whatever physical hold he has over her hasn’t abated in their time apart. If anything, it’s stronger, the lure of forbidden fruit taunting her body and mind.  _ Don’ttouchdon’ttouchdon’ttouch _ , she repeats over and over, shoving her hands awkwardly in the pockets of her jacket.

If she learned one thing from their ill-fated attempt at working things through back then, it was not to rush, not to try to lose herself in the physical before the emotional wounds have healed. Whatever she does, she will not make that mistake again.

They reach her car, and he removes the keys from her hand, clicking the unlock button and pulling open the driver’s door for her. 

She murmurs her thanks and allows him to place her keys back in the palm of her hand. She should say good night now, say it was good to see him, invite him to call her some time, then get in her car and drive away. That is what she should do. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself before looking up to meet his eyes. 

The look she finds there knocks that breath from her lungs. Such unfettered longing, such desire for her, the likes of which she hasn’t seen since the last time they were together. She knows he’s probably seeing the same from her. She has to move so the car door physically separates them before she can throw caution to the wind and herself into his arms. 

Only then with that barrier in place does she let her hand to rise up and brush against the side of his face. “I’m…I’m glad we did this,” she whispers. 

He closes his eyes and leans into her touch and that is all, but it undoes her. He does not try to kiss the palm of her hand or reach out for more but this, this simple grateful acceptance of tenderness, seems to reestablish in a moment a connection she feared was gone forever. 

He pulls away after what feels like an eternity but must have been three seconds, perhaps five, and she feels the loss palpably, her hand falling empty to her side again. But if that moment of connection is gone as quickly as it came, she has hope now, real hope, they can find it again. 

"I am too," he says, and she can see in his eyes he is feeling all of the same things. 

"Oh!" she exclaims suddenly, breaking the moment, rifling through her bag. "I almost forgot." She pulls out a rectangular package, wrapped in simple red paper, and hands it to him. 

"What's this?" he asks with a sideways smile. 

"The whole reason I wanted to see you," she says, mentally appending with some secret amusement,  _ or at least that's what I told myself. _ "I was going through some things, you know, after -- after I had her put down. I thought you'd like to have it." 

He turns the gift over to look at it upright while she studies his reaction, biting her lip slightly. It is a framed photograph of him and Justice at the farm, both worn out after a good game of fetch, and she could swear the dog is smiling just as broadly as he is. "Thank you," he says, a sad ghost of that smile on his face now. "Means a lot to me. I really did love that girl." 

"I know you did," she says gently, again resisting the urge to take his hand or pull him into an embrace, to physically comfort them both. It had not quite clicked through those sleepless nights, not when she sent that email or selected the frame, but it is clear to her all at once now: she felt compelled to share this with him because Justice had been with them through all of their adventures in domesticity. The last part of that life together was really gone now. 

But now, for the first time in two years, she is beginning to feel like there is room for something new to take its place. 

"I hate to think of you going through that alone, saying goodbye to her," Kurt says softly. 

"And I hate to think of you alone in a hospital bed," she returns, a facetious, accusatory edge rising in her voice again. She smiles at him warmly, and, swept up in this lovely and intimate moment, she wants to add: 'Let's not go through these things alone anymore.' But she catches herself, lets the words die in her throat. She wants that, she knows that now. But she can't be certain there is a path from here to there. And they can't afford to break each other's hearts over wishes alone, not again. 

She adjusts her purse and makes a definite move to go. She finds the words she knows are true, knows are the first step down that path, wherever it leads: "Call me, will you? We'll do this again." 

"Yeah," he says, clearly satisfied to be offered even that much. "I will." 

Diane gets into her car and starts it up, but waits, watches him walk away until he turns a corner and out of her sight. She takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly, smiling to herself. She has watched him walk away from her so many times before. It is good just to know it won't be forever, at least not this time.

 

***

 

When the next two weeks pass with no word from Kurt, Diane is unconcerned. She’s in court both weeks, with little time to think of anything else, and after all, taking it slow is what she wants. He doesn’t want to push her, that’s all. If she checks her phone a little more often than is her usual habit, well, that doesn’t mean anything really, does it? She would be happy to hear from him, but she’s not worried.

Even if she never hears from him at all, yes, she would be disappointed, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world. She has made a nice life for herself this last year and a half since she put him behind her. She’s learned, finally learned, moderation in her work-life balance. Instead of relentless, pointless expansion, she’s let the firm contract, become more specialized. She finally has her all-female firm, but they’ve confined themselves to one floor, beautifully decorated in an eclectic, but feminine style, replete with strong, passionate women.

Shortly after her divorce was finalized, she and David had one last come-to-Jesus meeting about the future of the firm, from which they emerged as friends and allies, but no longer partners. He has since set up his own shop across town. So far they’ve been more complementary than competitive, but she doesn’t know if that will last. Though, then again, maybe it will. She’s sensed some of the same fatigue in David that she’s felt in her own life. Something of  _ there’s got to be more than this. _

She’s the only name partner now and she likes being master of her own fate. Her juniors have been carefully chosen: her goddaughter Laura, newly relocated to Chicago; Monica Timmons, who is just as brilliant as Diane always suspected; and Lucca Quinn. That last choice had been a difficult one, but in the end she was forced to concede Lucca’s betrayal was not personal. She thought she had been doing her best to represent her client. She herself might have done the same thing at one time in her life. So far, the other woman has not squandered her second chance, but Diane still watches her carefully.

The cases they take now are ones she and the others care about, not ones designed solely to feed the bottom line. There are some of the latter, of course; they need to keep the lights on, but the balance is better now.

Her trial concludes Friday evening, the verdict in her favour, and Diane spends what has become a rare evening in the office, tidying up other work neglected during the week. Her office door closed, her shoes off, she plays Vivaldi while she answers emails, closing her eyes occasionally to listen to a favourite passage. 

Her phone’s ringtone blends so closely with the music that it’s a moment before she hears it. Opening her eyes, she picks it up and checks the display.

She breaks into a grin she knows perfectly well would look idiotic if anyone could see her - but no one can, and she is done with denying herself happiness anyway. She might have kept her cool as the days passed without hearing from him, but now, just seeing his name on her screen, she can't suppress the nervous excitement. 

She puts the music on mute, and her phone on speaker. "Hey," she says in greeting, wincing as she hears it. It came out low and flirtatious -- exactly the way she would have answered his call when they were together. It's almost alarming, how easy it is to slip back into old habits with him. 

"Hey," he returns, in his own characteristic straightforward way, not giving away any reaction to her tone, if he has any. She is reading too much into everything, she knows, but it is impossible not to. "So - how are you?" he ventures, and she smiles again at this, adjusting in her seat to tuck her legs beneath her. He didn't call just to ask how she was, and she knows small talk and preambles drive him crazy. 

"Good," she says, playing along. "I've been consumed with this case all week, but now I can finally relax a little. How are you?" 

"Well, that's why I wanted to talk to you..." He clears his throat - a signal to her that this is not altogether good news. "A couple days after I saw you, I got a call from Joey, you know, Debbie's son. She isn't doing so well." 

"Kurt, I'm so sorry," she says, concerned. She won't ask for details unless he offers them, but she can more or less imagine what has happened. She has only met Kurt's younger sister on a few occasions, but she knows she has been in and out of rehab programs for alcohol and drug abuse for years, every time she seemed to be on the road to recovery, something would inevitably send her back to her self-destructive ways. 

"I drove down here to Missouri to help out for a little while," he goes on. "I wanted to call sooner, didn't want you to think I forgot..." 

"Oh, god, please don't worry about that." That was Kurt - always worrying about doing the right thing for everyone. Always... with one glaring exception. 

When everything went to hell, she tortured herself with poisonous scenarios, even wondering if his periodic trips to see his sister were lies to cover up trysts with Holly or any number of other women. Even now, the thought flashes through her mind, but she dismisses it quickly. Without the pain of betrayal fueling her imagination, it no longer rings true.

That one mistake did not negate everything else that is so good about him. If there is one thing she is sure of now, it's that. His own words come back to her now, offering her the perspective and clarity she needs.

_People are always more than one thing._

"I wasn't worried when I didn't hear from you right away, I promise." 

"Good. I'm glad." And he does sound relieved - and exhausted by everything she knows he must be dealing with. She certainly does not want to add to the strain he's under. 

"Listen, Kurt, if you want to put this on the backburner until your sister is in a better place, maybe we should wait--" 

"No," he interrupts her quickly. "That's the last thing I want to do. I want to keep doing - this." This. She smiles. Whatever the hell  _ this _ is or turns out to be, at least they are on the same page about wanting to find out. 

"As long as it isn't making things harder." 

"Diane, talking to you..." He trails off, struggling as always to put his feelings into words, but seeming intent on managing it now. "It's the best thing that's happened to me in a long time." 

"Me too," she says softly, and although everything in her life seems to have fallen into place in recent months, she realizes this is the happiest she has felt in a long time. Scared and uncertain and wary -- but happy, too. 

"I don't know when I'll be back in town -- I'll be here until she gets out of this program, and after that I need to see how it goes." 

"Of course." 

"But I'd like to keep calling you, if that's okay. Give me something to look forward to. Maybe it's better this way, anyway." 

"What do you mean?" She's glad if he can see an upside to this, but it isn't clear to her. 

"There's a lot we still need to talk through if we're going to--" He gives up that sentence, as if afraid to presume. "Maybe it's better if we have some time to talk, just talk..." 

She nods slowly, understanding all too well what he means. It was so hard to resist the desire to touch him, kiss him, feel his arms around her again - and it was plain that he felt the same way. And he knows as well as she does how that could quickly dissolve any progress they make. It's wise - and she can't help but acknowledge, not just a little flattering. 

"Is that okay?"

“More than okay,” she assures him. “In fact, I think you have a point.” 

She pauses, weighing her next words carefully. She wants him to understand that she’s negotiating in good faith here, that her attraction to him is as strong as ever, that she really does want to try and knit together the remnants of their marriage, shape them, not into what they were, but into something new, different, perhaps stronger. 

But at the same time, she doesn’t want to make any promises, not even unspoken ones, which she may not be able to keep. In the end she settles on a small confession. “I’ve been thinking a lot about having your arms around me since the other night. I don’t know how well I could resist if we were alone together.”

He laughs, low and throaty and she feels it all the way through her body, from her ear down to her toes and at every point in between. “Yeah,” he agrees. “I’ve been thinking about that too.”

The both fall silent, the longing between them nearly a tangible thing.

“Close your eyes,” Kurt says, roughly breaking the silence. She obeys without thinking. “Are they closed?” he asks, seconds later.

“They are,” she breathes. This is an old game, born in the early days of their marriage when time apart was still a loss, before it became the unquestioned norm. At some point they’d stopped playing it; she hadn’t even noticed when.

“Good. I’m standing right in front of you. Can you hear me breathing?”

“I hear you.” Her heart beats wildly, wondering how far he’s planning on taking this.

“I’m reaching out, taking your hands in mine.” In her mind’s eye, she sees him step closer. Her hands begin to tingle as she images his rough fingers sliding between hers.

She inhales shakily. “I’m squeezing your hands and stepping closer,” she tells him, her voice barely above a whisper. Her fingers flex involuntarily.

“I’m sliding my hands up your arms to your elbows and taking another step closer myself.”

“My hands are sliding up your chest and wrapping around your neck.” She can feel the silky hair at the nape of his neck, wants to bury her hands in it and pull his head down to meet her.

He groans audibly sending chills through her body. “I’m wrapping my arms around your waist and pulling you close. Do you feel me holding you?”

“I feel you, Kurt.”

“Good. Good night, Diane.”

He disconnects before she can say another word.

It’s several minutes before she opens her eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

Diane stays in bed through her Saturday morning yoga class, unwilling to interrupt the hazy, pleasant memory-dreams that fill her dawn. She stretches, imagining a warm body sliding in place behind her, rough hands gliding along her waist, across her stomach, moving higher.

She allows her mind to wander freely, without judgment or question, a luxury she rarely affords herself. Seeing him after all this time has stirred thoughts and desires she never expected to entertain again. They have decided -- wisely, her rational mind would add, if she were listening to it just now -- to put all of that on a shelf. But here, alone, she can explore those feelings without fear or consequence, remembering how good it was to feel hands moving over her, his hands, strong and sure and as familiar as her own...

_After what happened the last time..._

She turns over, willing that thought away, trying to keep the more pleasant ones close and prolong this pleasant balance just on the edge of a hazy sleep and a reality she doesn't quite want to confront --

_After what happened the last time, you'd better take it slow._

Her rational mind asserts its authority and her eyes fly open, her moments of blissful ignorance gone for good. _Almost blissful_ , she thinks in frustration, turning onto her back and staring straight at the ceiling, all too awake and aware now.

She has not forgotten, and she hardly needs a reality check. She had ended it once and for all not because she couldn't forgive him -- though she had been no more certain she could ever do that -- but because she couldn't imagine a time when his touch would no longer remind her. And now, after all this time, if even the _thought_ of his touch is doomed to bring it all back every time...

She sighs, shaking off that hopeless idea, no more useful than the thoughts that had awoken her and a lot less fun. If she must be rational, then she will be rational. It had been a long time since she was totally honest with herself about all of this, and if she isn't, she knows they'll quickly find themselves right back in that awful state of limbo they were in before.

She had not stopped loving him all at once, like flicking a switch. She had worked at it, conditioned herself, wished those thoughts away for so long until it seemed she had finally killed it. He had been dead to her. He had been gone. It gave her the space, mentally and emotionally, to move on with her life. It was a useful lie she had learned to believe. The truth, after all, was no more believable, and it did her no good.

But if she's honest, the desire to reconnect with him had been no more sudden. It crept up on her and grew slowly and without her conscious recognition, but she had hardly reached out to him on a whim. The moment she stopped working at hating him, convincing herself to forget him, the door opened a crack. And it kept widening the longer she looked away. It wasn't even missing him so much as turning, now and then, and expecting to find him there. Thinking of something she wanted to say to him before she remembered he would not hear. Noticing, bit by bit, that the good times came to mind more often than the bad, and finding they could exist apart from the bad, untainted, still what they always had been.

She wonders if it had seemed peculiar to him, like a thinly veiled excuse, to arrange a meeting over the death of a pet. Certainly it is clear to her now that on some level she had been waiting for such a reason to test the waters. But that day, something had changed and there would be no shoving it aside and closing the door on it again. When she stood there in the vet's office making that horrible, unselfish decision to let her go, she had no energy left to protect her heart and marshall her thoughts. And in that moment, she wanted to turn into his arms, and he was not there.

With so many questions she has no idea how to answer, that is the only truth she has to go on. It doesn't change anything, and it doesn't guarantee success. But at least she can be sure she is ready to find out.

The doorbell rings then, pulling her abruptly out of her thoughts. She is allowed about a second and a half to come back to reality before she hears the front door open.

She groans as she drags herself out of bed. _Why now?_ She knows who it is before she hears the younger woman calling out her name, then the sounds of her rummaging through the kitchen, opening drawers and letting them slam shut. She slips into her robe, tying the belt in an angry knot around her waist, and runs her hands through her hair in frustration.

A year and a half ago, when Laura was new in town and Diane was looking for someone to talk to, she had pressed her spare key -- the one that had been Kurt's -- into her goddaughter's palm and encouraged her to come by any time she liked. Now, Diane wishes she had exercised a little more foresight.

She casts one last wistful glance at her empty bed, sheets left twisted behind her. She could have happily stayed there for another hour, letting her mind wander back to the carefree fantasies she had woken up to. With a heavy sigh, she abandons that dream and heads toward the commotion.

"Laura, hi," Diane calls out with enthusiasm and warmth she doesn't entirely feel at the moment, gathering her in an embrace. "What a nice surprise!"

Laura returns the hug briefly but quickly pulls back, eyeing Diane with a mix of amusement and suspicion. "Are you sick?"

"No, I feel perfectly fine."

"It's 9 o'clock -- sorry, since when do you sleep in past 6?"

"Since whenever," Diane waves her off dismissively, peering into the paper bag Laura brought. "Ooh, bagels."

"Yeah, don't you have a slicer around here? You have everything."

Diane points to the middle drawer in the kitchen island, and Laura returns to her rummaging.

"And don't change the subject. Why are you just getting up?"

Diane rolls her eyes, which goes unnoticed as Laura slices the bagels and busies herself creating an elaborate presentation. "I was up late last night, so I let myself sleep in."

"And why were you up late?" Laura places the platter of bagels and cream cheeses -- more than both of them could eat in a week -- between them on breakfast bar and pulls up a stool. As soon as she picks one up she drops it again, her eyes flying open dramatically. "You had a man over!"

Diane laughs throatily, shaking her head. "No."

"You did! I can tell."

Diane bites her lip, trying in vain to suppress the urge to protest too much. Laura is wrong, completely, literally wrong, so why does she feel guilty?

"Is he still here?" Laura persists.

"It's nothing like that," Diane says firmly, trying to put an end to this ridiculous conversation.

"It's _something_ like that." She narrows her eyes, studying Diane's face, not looking away for a moment as she tears off a piece of bagel and pops it in her mouth. Finally, she whispers, "Oh my god."

"Oh my god what?" Diane snaps, a little annoyed, more by how transparent she is than by her goddaughter's presumption. She knows it’s written all over her face, this secret that is not a man in her bed, but is not, after all, that far from one.

"It's him!" Laura shouts triumphantly.

Diane gestures that her mouth is too full to respond, which clinches the matter in the other woman's eyes. Laura leans over and slaps Diane's arm playfully. "I know it isn't anyone else. You're still hung up on him."

Diane's eyebrows shoot up, offended, but not even bothering to pretend she doesn’t understand the implication. "I am not 'hung up' on him. I moved on."

"You moved forward, that's not the same thing," she says, as if she has made a significant and game-winning point.

Diane sighs, resigned. Arguing is only going to prolong the interrogation; she might as well come clean. "We've been talking. That's all. He hasn’t been here."

"And how long have you been talking?"

"Twice in two weeks," Diane waves it away as if it meant nothing.

Laura gives her a long, hard look, then finally says, "Just be careful."

"Oh, you only know the bad parts," Diane shrugs her off. It had been so nice when Laura came back into her life so soon after the divorce, to find in her someone she could rant to over a bottle of wine long into the night. Everyone who knew him couldn't stop saying 'I just can't believe it!' long enough to actually support her. Laura became the only person she could confide in through the worst of it -- it was exactly what she needed then, but now she wishes she had been able to articulate the bigger picture.

Laura looks skeptical. "How good do the good parts have to be to undo the bad?"

Diane's stomach lurches involuntarily; she doesn’t need to hear from Laura what she is already all too well aware of. There is no undoing what has been done. There is no making up for it. But it doesn't negate all the good things between them, neither what existed then, nor what could grow now. Still, her own words ring in her ears: how many conversations with Laura in those days had wandered off in every direction, always arriving at the very same place? She loved him, but she could never get past this, never, never, never...

"Can we talk about something else, please?" Diane asks, trying to sound lighthearted. "You must have wanted something when you came barging in here, bribing me with bagels."

"Oh we'll return to this subject later, don't worry," Laura grins back at her slyly. "But yes -- I did have a favor to ask you."

"Go on," Diane says warily. She’s learned the hard way about agreeing to Laura’s favours too quickly.

"You remember me talking about Kevin, right? The guy I met at the gym a few months ago?"

"I do."

"Well...we've been seeing each other fairly regularly since then, and we were supposed to have dinner tonight, but...his father is unexpectedly in town."

Diane is already shaking her head, sensing where this is going. "No, Laura, I don't think..."

"Please, Aunt Dee," she wheedles, switching to the familiar form of address she hasn't used since she was a child. "I need someone there who's on my side. Besides I want you to meet Kevin. And, you never know, you might like his dad. It would be good for you to have options other than old whatshisname."

"Isn't Kevin on your side?" she asks, ignoring the dig at Kurt. She remembers when she first met his family, shortly after they married. His parents had both been gone for years, but meeting Debbie and Joey had been nerve-wracking enough all on its own. Kurt had been wonderful about it though, holding firm that she was there to stay, even when Debbie made it clear she didn’t think Diane was the right choice for her big brother.

"Of course, but you've known me longer,” Laura explains. “You can tell them all about how awesome I am."

Diane just rolls her eyes, but Laura is undeterred.

"Just think of it as networking. Kevin's father runs some sort of charitable foundation. He might be able to throw some work our way."

That thought piques her interest. And it’s not like she has other plans tonight. She had been hoping, without thinking about it too hard, that she might see Kurt this weekend, but with him in Missouri, clearly that’s out. She might even enjoy a dinner out. Anyway, Laura’s mother would never forgive her if she turned down an opportunity to scope out Kevin’s son-in-law potential.

“Okay, fine,” she sighs, faux put-upon. “I’ll go. When and where?”

“Thank you, thank you!” Laura leans over and gives her a brief but enthusiastic one-armed hug. “I don’t know yet; but I’m meeting Kevin…” She glances at her watch. “Oh! Now. I’ll find out and give you a call later.”

With that, Laura is out the door at hurricane speed, leaving Diane suddenly alone with enough food for a brunch meeting, and far too wide awake to retreat back to her bed.

Picking up her bagel, she takes a bite and chews thoughtfully.

***

“Diane was my mother’s roommate in college,” Laura explains to the table as Diane shakes hands with Kevin and his father John, who then pulls out her chair. “And now she’s my boss as well as my godmother.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” she says, fully enveloped in her pleasant, but business-like, senior partner persona. “Laura’s told me a lot about you, Kevin,” she says as she takes her seat.

Dinner is nice, if not exciting. John is about her age, seems to lean left from what she can gather while politely avoiding political topics; he’s well-dressed and well-spoken. In fact, had she met him ten years earlier, she may have been as interested in him as he appears to be in her. Though perhaps, that’s just his way of being polite.

Halfway through her entrée, her phone vibrates briefly from inside her clutch, which is perched on her lap, under her napkin. One short burst, it’s indicating not a call, but a text message. It’s probably work related, from Lucca or Monica, but the idea that it could be Kurt settles behind her eyes, poking at her until she can’t think of anything else.

When she becomes so distracted she loses track of the conversation twice in five minutes, she rises and, excusing herself, and flees to the ladies’ room. She can feel Laura’s eyes boring into her back until she’s around a corner and out of sight.

Diane pulls out her phone again the moment she can no longer be seen. It _is_ Kurt. She grins, feeling like a giddy teenager, leaning her shoulder against the wall, not much caring what anyone thinks.

_Can't call tonight unless it's late - taking Joey out on a guy's night. He's having a rough time. Miss you._

She reads the message twice, and stares at the last two words for a long time as she considers how to reply -- searching for just the right balance of encouraging but not overeager.

_Sorry to hear that. Call as late as you like. Miss you too._

She clenches her eyes tightly shut as she hits send, half mortified, half thrilled. When had she ever felt so ridiculous over any man? She remembers as soon as she's posed the question to herself: just once, with him, those absurd attempts she had made at showing him she was interested, until he mercifully proposed the time and place of their first date.

She doesn't expect any reply; none is needed, and Kurt has never been much of a texter, but in a moment her phone vibrates again.

_Talk to you later then. What are you up to?_

She laughs to herself, every explanation for this situation that comes to her mind seeming both comical and much too long to text.

_I think I'm on a double date._

She hits send, then quickly adds:

_No reason for you to worry._

She laughs again, waiting for a teasing or mock-threatened reply, but her smile gradually fades when it does not come. She glances at the time -- she knows Laura will run over here and drag her back if she's gone much longer. But she doesn't want to leave until she can see his response.

She cycles through the apps in heaviest rotation on her phone, checks her email, the headlines, and her stock portfolio, comprehending nothing as she mindlessly scrolls, waiting for the alert of another message. It does not come.

Diane chews her lip, considering. Should she send another message, clarifying? He would know it was a joke, surely. She shouldn't bother him anymore when he's out with his nephew. The young man needs his attention; his needs are much greater than her own silly desire for a few quick words of flirtation. But what if he thinks she's serious? Would he worry? Would he be upset? That dark voice always dancing at the edge of her mind chimes in, then: _so what if he's jealous for a few hours; what would that be compared to the time he spent in another woman's bed?_

"Diane!" Laura hisses, catching her, her hand reaching out to seize her phone. "Do I need to take this away from you?"

Diane forces herself to laugh, although she suddenly feels stricken. She snatches the phone back, replacing it in her purse. "Sorry. Lucca emailed me about the MacGregor appeal--"

"You are a terrible liar," Laura accuses, but her face betrays her amusement. "You came out here to talk to him, admit it."

"Fine, guilty. But Lucca also emailed me about the MacGregor appeal," she mutters in her defense. At least, she thinks she noticed something about that while her mind was thinking of nothing but him.

"You're hopeless," Laura sighs, shaking her head. "There's a perfectly nice, perfectly handsome, perfectly available man back at that table who only has eyes for you, and you--"

Laura stops herself, suddenly hearing and seeming to regret the 'only has eyes for you' part of her argument.

Diane just nods, pretending the unintended reminder does not sting. "All right. Let's go back."


	5. Chapter 5

Diane changes into her pajamas and goes about her nighttime routine, playing the night's events over in her mind. After they returned to the table, Laura continued to lay it on thick, taking every opportunity to point out similarities and shared interests between Diane and John until they could barely say a word to each other; Laura had said all there was for them. Diane was tempted to kick her under the table, but forced herself to be a good sport, relax and sip her wine. There would be time to give the young woman a piece of her mind later.

She began to suspect Laura had talked her up to John a good deal more when she was not present as well, because by the time they all said their goodbyes it was clear he was under the impression it was indeed a double date, no joking about it. He pulled her aside and told her in charming tones how lovely it was to meet her, and would look forward to meeting her again sometime, to talk business, or... He trailed off then, giving her a business card and a meaningful smile.

If she had been aware of the poor man’s misconceptions from the beginning, she thinks wryly, settling into bed with a sigh, she may have approached things differently. But it was harmless enough, and fun, she supposes, for the most part. She could even laugh about all of the presumptions and misunderstandings, except --

It hadn't been entirely harmless, had it? She frowns and checks her phone for the tenth time since she came home. She brings up the text conversation just to be sure. She couldn't miss the vibration and she couldn't miss the pop-up, but just in case of some unprecedented mechanical glitch just when she needs it to work most... No. No reply from Kurt for two and a half hours.

She sets the phone on her nightstand, trying to put it out of her mind. It's not quite eleven. He said he would call late, and it's just now getting to be late. She'll read a book until she falls asleep; if she falls asleep, the call will wake her; if he doesn't call, well, she'll try him in the morning. He’s out with his nephew. Everything is fine.

She picks up the novel she's reading, burrows down deeper under the covers and turns to the page she marked. She becomes absorbed in the book and soon enough isn't thinking about Kurt at all. If every time she turns the page she glances over at her blank phone screen and then at the clock, getting ever later, that was only where her eyes naturally happened to land, nothing more.

At some point she falls asleep, her dreams a strange, swirling amalgam of the wartime intrigue of her novel and her own unsettled life. She and Kurt run along a misty, silent street, chased by some horror she cannot see, but that she knows always follows them. The only sounds are their ragged breathing, and the dull thud of their feet hitting the ground. Suddenly an air raid siren pierces the night, shattering the imaginary street scene as reality rapidly intrudes. Her phone vibrates, clattering against her nightstand, the bleating ringtone overtaking the sirens. Stretching her arm and grabbing it, she barely registers the time as she taps to accept the call: 3:07 AM.

"You were asleep," he says in response to her barely-there 'hello'. "Sorry I'm so late."

"No, no, it's okay," she says, struggling for a second to sit up before giving up and curling onto her side, phone pressed between her ear and the pillow, eyes closing. "I'm awake."

"I wasn't sure if I should call at all." He's been drinking, a slight slur to his words giving him away. Probably no one else would notice, but she does, even half asleep.

"Of course you should have," she assures him. "I told you late was fine."

"Well, I didn't want to interrupt anything." The words are casual; the slight edge to his voice is not.

She opens her eyes.  _ Ah. There it is _ . He  _ had  _ misunderstood her joking text. She wonders how big a part that played in his current state. Kurt doesn't over-indulge often, but when he does, his judgement suffers for it. Her stomach flutters uncomfortably. He had been drinking when…  _ No, she’s not going there right now. _

"You're not interrupting anything other than a very strange dream. Kurt, I said you had nothing to worry about. It wasn’t really a date. You should have texted back, or called sooner if something was bothering you." Despite her best efforts, fatigue and frustration sharpen her tone. She should probably get off the phone. Nothing good can come of them talking right now.

"I have no right...” he begins, and she knows where this is going.

"No, you don't," she interrupts, annoyance bubbling up, pushing aside any lingering regret over the hasty text. "You don't. But, I told you it was nothing, and it was, Kurt; it was  _ nothing _ . A favour for a friend, that's  _ all _ ." It's wholly ludicrous that  _ she  _ is the one reassuring  _ him  _ that her intentions are honourable here, and he seems to realize it too, judging by the muffled curse from the other end of the line, followed by a long exhalation.

"I'm sorry," he says after a brief silence. "This is insane. I guess it's true what they say about guilty consciences."

"I guess so." They need to talk about this, hash out every ugly thing they've swept under the rug thus far, but now is not the time, not when he's drunk, not when her patience is already stripped down to the bone. Not when it's three in the morning and the pain of loss is growing so strong she can barely breathe. She sits up now, bunching up the pillows behind her into some kind of support. "So how was your night?" Her change of subject is artless, but he allows it.

"Miserable," he says. "Joe's a mess. Kid's barely in his twenties and he blames himself because he can't keep his nearly sixty year old mother off the sauce. I worry he's hitting the bottle too hard himself. We were a fine pair tonight." He still sounds despondent, and she wishes she could reach into the phone and comfort him. Comfort him, or slap him, one of the two. Perhaps both.

“You should go to sleep,” she says softly.

“Yeah.”

“We’ll talk tomorrow, okay? Call me after you’ve had some rest.”  _ And sobered up _ , she thinks, but doesn’t add.

“Okay…yeah, okay. Diane?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry.”

She knows he’s not just talking about tonight. “I know. Get some sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

She disconnects and sets her phone back on her night table. They're going to have to have this out, all of it, and if they’re ever going to move past it, they’re going to have to actually  _ talk _ . She’s hard-pressed to think of anything harder for Kurt than opening up about his feelings. She’s always been the one to lead those kinds of discussions and that’s fine as far as it goes, but she can’t do it on her own. If he can’t get past his guilt and feelings of worthlessness and actually open up to her, they’re never, ever going to be able to put the past to rest.

 

***

 

"That wasn't a favor; that was a set-up!" Diane crows over the phone to Laura the next morning, but her accusing words quickly fade into a hearty laugh.

She has already completed all the tidying up and yoga to make up for taking yesterday off that she can cram into a Sunday afternoon before she has no choice but to face what she's really doing: keeping herself busy. And both activities afford too much time to think. Calling Laura to tell her what she really thought of last night at least takes her mind off the less pleasant task of what she must say to Kurt about the same.

"I'm sorry," Laura cries, dragging out the last syllable dramatically. "I thought if I got you out of the house you'd have a good time!"

"Not just out -- with a man!"

"Yeah, well, if I'd gotten to you a week or two earlier maybe I'd have had better luck," she grumbles in mock resentment.

"Believe me, Laura, under no circumstances would I have enjoyed what basically amounted to a blind date - me being  _ utterly _ in the dark that it was meant to be a date at all."

"Oh, please, it wasn't even a date, he just liked you. And I think you liked him, too."

Diane shrugs and pulls a face, even though Laura can't see. "I liked him. I like a lot of men. But I'm so far from a place in my life where I want a man just because I  _ like _ him."

Laura lets out an exaggerated groan of frustration. "Is having a nice time with someone you like and who treats you with respect so awful?"

"No, and neither is enjoying the life I've built for myself, by myself."

"And neither is having a torrid affair with your ex-husband that's only going to leave you in tears again, apparently," Laura snips.

Diane's cutting reply dies in her throat as she hears the little chime on her phone that indicates another call is coming in. She glances down at the screen quickly -- a flutter of nerves courses through her when she sees it's Kurt. "Laura, I'm going to have to call you back later."

"Fine, go, go, I can tell you have a better offer." She can almost hear her rolling her eyes.

And she doesn't care. Laughing, Diane replies, "It'll make for better gossip next time we have drinks, won't it?" And she releases the call before waiting for any further smart remarks.

"Hello?" She answers the incoming call brusquely, the hint of flirtation that came so naturally the other day now gone.

"Hi -- Diane, listen, before you say anything..." Kurt lets out a long sigh. "I'm sorry about last night."

"You've already said that," she says quietly.

"I know. But I think you deserve to hear it from me sober, too."

She doesn't respond to his apology directly -- does he really know what he's apologizing for? -- and changes the subject. "How are you feeling?"

"Devil of a hangover, which is about what I deserve," he chuckles uncomfortably. "I didn't say anything too stupid, did I?"

"Not  _ too  _ stupid," she says wryly. She pauses, thinking over how she'll say exactly what it is she needs to say to him. Last night was no terrible setback, nothing unforgivable, but the way he responded to it, and is still responding to it -- the guilt, the jumping the worst conclusion, the assumption that he  _ deserves  _ the worst -- that has to change, if they're ever going to get anywhere.

"Kurt, I think we need to face reality," she begins, taking a strong tone.

"Yeah," he all but whispers, and she knows he's doing it again, already assuming that reality means she's walking out of his life again, forever this time, and the only thing he deserves more is for her to do it fifty times over, every time he allows himself a small glimmer of hope.

"Just let me say this before you react, okay?" she says a little more gently, hoping to show him she intends no harm. "I didn't think before I sent that text, either. Neither of us have been thinking. Well, I've been driving myself crazy thinking and I'm sure you have too, but the point is, we don't think when we're together, when we’re talking, do we? We  _ feel _ , we..."

She trails off, already wishing she could see him, reassure him with her touch, smile and show him it's going to be all right. And that's just exactly what they don't need right now.

"Things have been so nice, so easy between us, that it started to feel like we could just fall back into our old ways. But we can't, Kurt."

She pauses, but he does as she asked and listens, just listens; he neither protests nor resigns himself to his fate as she's sure he wants to.

"It's not easy. It's not always going to be nice. We've been avoiding it. And as long as we avoid it, sure, we can have these lovely moments here and there because like it or not, Kurt, this thing between us? It isn't going away."

"I like it," he ventures, sensing she has left him space to jump in.

"I like it, too," she says warmly, before continuing with what she needs to say. "But if we avoid everything else, it's only going to be moments. We're never going to get our  _ life  _ back. We're always going to keep falling back into the same misunderstandings and hurt and -- we can't go on like that. It will slowly poison us. Does that make sense to you, too?"

"You're right. I know you're right," he says solemnly. "Diane, I don't want to avoid anything. I don't, I promise, I just..." He sighs heavily. "I'm so bad at this."

_ He is _ , she thinks with knowing affection, but that isn't going to get him off the hook. "Hey. I'm here, okay? I'm here because I want to be. Can you believe that, before we even start?"

"Yeah," he says, but it's hardly convincing.

"Kurt, we both need to know we're all in. I couldn't even give you that much before, could I? Last time we tried, I didn't know if I even  _ wanted  _ it to work out."

"I could hardly blame you."

"No. But I'm telling you now that I want this to work. I at least need you to know that. I was  _ joking  _ yesterday, it was a terrible stupid joke, but I was joking. I don't want anyone else; I want this to work. Can you believe me? Can you trust me?"

He lets a long silence pass, and when he finally speaks it sounds like it is with great effort. "Of course I believe you, Diane. I just... after I've hurt you so much, I don't understand how you could ever..."

"I trust you," she interrupts him, her voice strong and defiant, and if he were there in front of her now she thinks she would take both his shoulders and shake him until he finally understands.

"How can you?" he asks, almost astonished.

She closes her eyes, holding back sudden tears she didn't even realize were threatening. If they can't even come to a common understanding about their intentions, if he is too blinded by his own self-loathing to believe she even wants to, that she could want to before he feels he has been punished sufficiently, then they are never going to be able to face the harder work ahead. She feels desperate to make him see, and at a loss as to how.

But then she thinks back to the previous morning, to the thoughts and feelings going back months and months that she had finally allowed herself to consciously acknowledge. This has all been a long time coming. Maybe if he knew that…

"I'm going to tell you something," she starts, her voice steady and sure. "I didn’t only contact you to tell you about Justice. The truth is, you had been on my mind for months prior to that. This isn’t a whim, Kurt. This isn’t something I haven’t thought through. I missed you. And I forgive you.”


	6. Chapter 6

The shocked silence on the other end of the line lasts longer than she had hoped. He has missed her too, she knows that, but if he still can't believe he deserves her forgiveness, he may try to be noble, to end things here and now before they even get started again. She waits on tenterhooks for him to make his choice, her free hand rising to fidget with the ends of her hair.

At last comes a noisy exhalation and he speaks. "Thank you. You have no idea what that means to me, but..."

"No," she interrupts without thinking. "There are no 'buts' here Kurt. There is nothing that negates that sentence. There are no 'buts'; there are only 'ands'. I forgive you _and_ we still have a lot to work through. I forgive you _and_ things are probably going to get harder before they get easier. I forgive you _and_ I think we're worth fighting for. Do you see, Kurt? Do you see how second part of the sentence doesn't change the first? If we are going to going to get anywhere with that, you have to accept that I’ve forgiven you. And you have to forgive yourself.”

There's another long pause before finally..."Okay. I believe you. And I’ll try." He's struggling to keep his voice from shaking, but this time she thinks maybe it's different. He's not fighting back tears of sorrow and guilt, but ones of relief. For perhaps the first time, his muffled show of emotion doesn't provoke anger or even irritation in her. Instead, it gives her hope.

***  
Monday morning begins another busy week for Diane. Her previous trial has concluded, but she's only days away from another one, with a huge amount of prep work still to be done. It's times like this she misses the small army of first-year associates and paralegals she once had at her command. Some of the things she does by herself now, well, Will Gardner would not have believed his eyes. He and Jonas are probably somewhere having a good laugh at her expense right about now. The thought of that makes her smile.

She and Kurt had talked for another thirty minutes yesterday, after what she hoped was a breakthrough of sorts, but not about anything of significance - or at least, not significant to their relationship. He confided more in her about the incident that had led to Debbie's current hospitalization, asked her advice on what to do about his nephew. She had been of little help, not having any real experience with addicts, or even with young adults who weren't interested in becoming lawyers. He had insisted just talking to her was helpful, and while she was glad he thought so, she still wishes she could do more.

Maybe if she went down there, went grocery shopping, made them a nice meal? She's not a great cook but she can manage a few of his favourites reasonably well. Maybe she could… _No_. Disapprovingly, she shakes her head at herself. What is she even thinking? There are good, solid reasons they've decided it's better to stay physically separated until they've talked more, gotten all their issues at least out on the table. If she goes down there, she knows they'll be in bed together before the night is out and they're not ready for that yet.

That's always been their pattern, truth be told, going back to their very first date. Their differences were overwhelming to her, he was a man of few words, they were both set in their ways, but by god she _wanted_ him. So she had him, and it worked until it didn't. That was only the beginning, but it was a dance they repeated over and over, ignoring their problems, using sex as therapy, as an anaesthetic, as a distraction. And, as before, it worked, until it quite spectacularly did not.

Every feminist bone in her body screams in protest at the thought of her taking any responsibility for the actions of a man who has hurt her, and she doesn't. She doesn't take responsibility for his actions, but mustn't she take responsibility for her own? There had always been issues between them, some arising from the very nature of their lives and their personalities, some developing over years of hurting and running away from one another. And these issues, long ignored, avoided, and bandaided with sex, didn't suddenly vanish because they got married. She knows that now. If she's being completely honest, she knew it then, too.

In any case, that's something they're going to have to address, and it's probably going to be the hardest part of all, because it involves both of them going against their very natures -- hers to bury and ignore problems, hide them even from her own mind, and his to stew in silence when things bother him. They can do it, but being in too close quarters too soon will only allow for more avoidance. No, she can't go to Missouri.

But there is one thing she can do. She opens her browser and brings up ChumHum, smiling to herself as she types.

***

Two days later, Diane is buried in final case preparations, sitting up straight in bed, typing furiously on her laptop, files and notebooks scattered on either side of her. She takes stock of the scene dubiously. It would be easier to work straight through the night than to clean up this mess and sleep. Resigned, she continues drafting her opening arguments. She has been at this for hours now, having stopped for a quick salad after she came home from the office and then diving right back in again, but at least she's in the zone.

She tries to avoid bringing work home regularly now, and she usually succeeds. After forty years of eighty-hour work weeks, she is ready… if not to retire -- she isn't sure she ever could truly retire -- then certainly to slow down. To finally enjoy some of what she has worked so hard to build. There has to be some enjoyment, or else what's the point? She has realized that over the past year, something she isn't sure she ever believed before, but part of her wishes she had. Even after the divorce, even when she thought she'd never want to see him again, she frequently found herself wishing she'd made this choice sooner, when _they_ could have enjoyed it together. _Maybe if she had..._

She dismisses the thought, refocusing on her case notes. She will work well into the small hours tonight, and depending on how the case proceeds, will probably be in for a late night for the next several nights. It's unavoidable, once in a while, with a case like this. But then things will level off and she will have her free time back to see her friends, pursue her interests, read a book for pleasure, all the things she never realized she missed for so many years. Balance suits her.

The sound of her phone ringing jolts her out of her stream of consciousness. She looks over, sees it's Kurt, and smiles. But looking back at the mess of papers around her, she's torn. It's so late already, and there's so much left to do...

Ignoring her own protests, she picks up the phone. "Did it arrive?" she asks, skipping right over hello.

"Very funny," he responds wryly.

She laughs lightly, picturing the pained look on his face as he holds one of the six volumes of Proust's _Remembrance of Things Past_ she sent him, thinking of the days when they sent each other books as a clumsy method of flirtation.

"What? I figured you'd have some time on your hands down there," she teases him.

"Yeah, and about time I learned some big words, eh?"

She laughs again. "No. I just want _your_ words."

"I can do that," he chuckles, and she can hear he's in a better place today. "I started reading - ah, _Swann's Way_."

"Oh?" She raises an eyebrow. "What do you think?"

"Still trying to get off the first page. I'll let you know."

"You might like it," she laughs, although somehow she doubts it.

"Yeah, maybe."

She glances down at the blinking cursor on her laptop screen, at her thought abandoned midsentence. She squints and isn't sure she remembers where that argument was supposed to go. It will take her ages to finish this now, and to get back into the groove...

"You there, Diane?"

"Yeah, sorry, I--" she trails off, distracted, noticing a typo and quickly correcting it.

"If this is a bad time, I can try you tomorrow."

She considers for a moment. It is a bad time, honestly, and she's sure he'll understand that. But tomorrow will be a bad time, too; the whole week will be, and even if it's just temporary...

She allows herself to finish the thought this time. _Maybe if she had made the time then, things would have been different._

She closes the laptop decisively, setting it aside on a pile of papers, remembering so many, many nights when she had made the opposite decision. The case is important, but so is this.

"No, tonight is good. Kurt, when we were together, did I ever make you feel ignored, neglected?" She might as well start asking the difficult questions now.

He sighs. "It wasn't about that."

It takes her a moment to understand what he is referring to -- strangely, that had been the furthest thing from her mind.

"I didn't mean Holly." Her stomach churns at the name, but she knows she has to be willing to go there. "Not necessarily. I mean, in general, even before that."

"You have a demanding job, Diane, I always knew that."

"Yes. But that doesn't really answer the question."

He considers this for a long time, and she knows he is searching for words that will be honest, but not hurt her. She wishes he'd stick to the former; there is no magic word that can be both at once. But she lets him come to it himself. He is trying.

"I felt... lonely, sometimes, yeah. But I didn't blame you for that."

"Well, you wouldn't, my fine, honorable cowboy," she says warmly, then becomes serious again, as something she never considered before occurs to her. "You never liked our arrangement, did you? The way we lived our lives, with so much time apart."

"I thought that was what you wanted."

She nods slowly, understanding. They had never really talked about it; they both just assumed. "I didn't love my job more than you, Kurt. I didn't choose my job over you. But day by day the work piled up and I told myself 'we'll make up for it later'..."

"I know. I never held it against you, Diane. But sometimes..." He pauses. This is so hard for him. "Sometimes, yeah, I felt like I came a distant second."

"Okay." She winces. The truth hurts, physically hurts. But this is what she wanted; what they _need_.

She looks around at the mess of papers on her bed again. This used to be her every night. And sometimes when he called in the middle of it, she didn't even pick up.

"I wish I'd made more time for you, Kurt. For us," she says, and she doesn't intend or expect it but her voice breaks at the end of it, overcome with sorrow for the time they had lost. "I'm proud of my work, I don't regret it, but I could have made the time."

He goes silent for a long while again, not knowing what to say. She isn't really apologizing, and she's sure he's still uncomfortable discussing any potential shortcoming of hers. If he isn't quite in a place of irretrievable self-loathing tonight, he certainly does prefer to shoulder the blame.

Sure enough, when he finally speaks, he simply changes the subject. "I've been thinking about where I went wrong, too."

She sighs. She doesn’t want this to devolve into another opportunity for Kurt to demonize himself while placing her up on a pedestal. That’s what she used to do to him, and she knows now the damage that can do to a relationship, from both perspectives. "Kurt, just before you continue, I want to make something clear, okay?"

"Okay," he says, drawing out the word slightly, in that way he has of prompting her to continue.

“I’m not accepting any blame for your…mistake,” she begins cautiously. “That was your own doing, and you’ve owned up to it. I’m not in any way trying to assuage your guilt, when I talk about the mistakes I’ve made, and you don’t have to reassure me that it wasn’t my fault. I know the…” She grits her teeth and forces herself to say the word. “The affair was not my fault. But Kurt, our marriage was far from perfect long before she became an issue, and I do need to take responsibility for my part in that. You can’t do it for me. Okay?”

He’s silent for a moment and she can almost hear him trying to find the flaw in her argument. She almost smiles. He won’t - she does this for a living. Finally he comes to the same conclusion. “Yeah, okay, but Diane you have to let me take my share too, even outside of…her. There’s more than enough blame to go around here.”

He is so incredibly right about that. “God, we couldn’t have made more of a hash out of this if we tried, could we?” she asks, intending to say it jokingly, but it emerges mostly just glum.

Surprisingly, her sudden melancholia doesn’t appear to be contagious. Kurt laughs, genuinely laughs for perhaps the first time since they’ve been speaking again. “Come on, hon. It wasn’t all bad, was it? Don’t you have _any_ good memories?”

That sets her back. _Of course_ she has good memories. Would they even be having this conversation if she didn’t?

“Our first anniversary,” she says immediately. They went away together for the first time, a week in Hawaii, the honeymoon they – she – hadn’t been able to manage right after their wedding. She almost hadn’t gone that time either. Her work life had been in chaos with her trying to get out from under Canning’s thumb to join Florrick Agos. Cary was under indictment, and god knows what else was going on she doesn’t even remember anymore. She couldn’t have picked a worse time to go away for a week.

Kurt had sensed her worry, and offered to cancel the trip. “It’s fine,” he had said. “We’ll do it another time.” But she knew he had turned down work to be available for her, and she had seen him paging through the brochures she brought home from the travel agent, and she just…couldn’t. Couldn’t disappoint him again.

“That was a good week,” he says now, almost wistfully.

“It really was.” She had turned her phone off, and left Kurt’s number with her assistant to be used only in the direst of emergencies. And amazingly, the world had not come to an end. How could she have forgotten that it wouldn’t? They were supposed to go to Italy for their second anniversary, but it never happened, never even got to the planning stage.

“We should do it again,” she says impulsively. Then, realizing what she’s just presumed, her hand flies up to cover her mouth.

“I’d like that,” he says before she can backtrack, and amazingly, she finds she doesn’t actually want to backtrack. After all, if they don’t make any progress with this process, the idea will fall to the wayside all on its own. And if they do…well, they’ll probably need a vacation after all that.

“Where should we go?” she asks, playing along.

“Costa Rica,” he says immediately and she can hear the smile in his voice.

She laughs. “You’re never going to give up on getting me there, are you?”

“Nope. Diane, it’s just so beautiful there; I know when you get there, you’ll never want to leave.” The semester Kurt spent teaching in Costa Rica, the trip she was invited to accompany him on, is one of the few topics he will expound upon endlessly (the others are mainly political rants she does her best to avoid triggering) and she loves listening to him share his love for the country. She’s wondered many times what their lives would have been like had she accepted his proposal back then, taken a six month sabbatical, and accompanied him. Now, seven years down the road, her reasons for staying behind seem so unimportant, so very much not worth the sacrifice.

“Okay,” she says softly. “Let’s do it.”

He says nothing for long moments. She smiles, allowing herself to recline further on the bed, kicking aside the files in her way. She has stunned him into silence again, but at least not in a painful way this time. Perhaps one day, he'll be able to take her words in stride.

"Yeah?" he ventures finally.

"Yeah," she says, more certainly now, and maybe it's silly, maybe it's as improbable and romantic an idea as it was the first time he proposed it. But even then, there was a voice in her head saying, _You know what? This just feels right._

And she hears that voice again now.

"All right. I'll look forward to that." His tone is still lighthearted, but she can sense that something has changed, that he has come back to reality. That he does not really believe, just now, that they will ever take that trip together. But he will - in time. "What were we even talking about, before this?"

"Before the subject of happier times, past and to come?" She sighs, both reluctant to change the subject, and finding she just can't get comfortable no matter how she shifts herself among all these papers. "I think you were about to regale me with tales of your inadequacies."

"Yeah. Well, I've been thinking--"

"Actually, Kurt?" She interrupts him suddenly, sitting bolt upright, fed up with this sitting arrangement. "Can I put you on speaker for a minute?"

"What, do you have some friends over, you want them to hear all this?"

She lets out a long burst of laughter, realizing how that sounded. Oh, she has missed how he can make her laugh. "No, no," she giggles, setting the phone on the nightstand again and standing up. "No, I'm just buried in files - literally - and I can't stand this anymore, give me a minute..."

She stacks the papers in a haphazard pile, not much caring what order they end up in, and dumps them off on the chair by her bed.

"Big case tomorrow?" he asks, probably remembering this routine all too well.

"Yes, opening arguments. I'm not really prepared, but -- oh, well. I can wing it."

"Wing it?" He laughs. "That doesn't sound like you."

"You'd be surprised how I've mellowed," she grins, now turning down the covers of the bed. "I'm practically carefree. Well -- comparatively carefree."

"Ah," he muses. "OK, well, tell me when I should start."

She slips into bed and turns out the light, picking up the phone and setting it down on the mattress beside her, but leaving it on speaker. She likes having the sound of his voice projected like this; if she closes her eyes, she can almost imagine he's here with her.

"No more tonight," she says gently. "This wasn't an assignment."

"I want you to know I take this seriously, Diane."

"I've never known you to _not_ take anything seriously," she teases him.

"You'd be surprised how I've mellowed, too," he laughs.

"Look at us - maybe we're learning. Anyway, let's not end on an unhappy note. We should make that a rule."

"It's not an assignment, but there are rules, got it," he jokes, and she wishes she could throw something at him. She settles for making a huffing sound of feigned annoyance.

"You know what I mean. I'd rather fall asleep thinking of those happier times. It wasn't all bad, Kurt. It was mostly good, don't you think?"

"I remember it that way, yep."

"We just lost our way a little." She feels her eyelids growing heavier and fights to stay awake. This might lead to sweet dreams, but she's beginning to prefer the reality they're building.

"I guess we can find our way back again, huh?" He sounds a little sleepy to her, too, and she wonders suddenly if he is also in bed, half drifting off to the sound of her voice and this moment of peace they have found, but she finds she is somehow embarrassed to ask him. She stares off at his side of the bed -- still, always, his side of the bed. Before him, she took up all the space she liked, sprawled, woke up far from the position she had fallen asleep in. Now, even after all this time, not even in sleep can she bring herself to cross that invisible line.

"I know we can, Kurt," she murmurs, letting her eyes drift closed. If he says any more after that, she does not hear.


	7. Chapter 7

The defendant in Diane’s case settles unexpectedly, leaving the end of the week much lighter than she had anticipated. She spends Friday cleaning up various administrative tasks she had let slide during her two back-to-back trials. It’s tedious but necessary work that leaves her a lot of time to think. So often during the last two years, too much time to think has led her down the path of pointless what-ifs and regrets. Other times it was to daydreams about more pleasant potential futures, such as the one she finds herself now living out in reality. 

She and Kurt have talked every night this week, sometimes briefly, a couple of times at length, and they are making slow but sure progress in understanding what they went wrong in their marriage. It’s been enlightening at times, devastating at others, but mostly – mostly it’s been encouraging. No issue they’ve encountered so far seems insurmountable. Many are no longer applicable simply because of changes they’ve made to their lives on their own, in the interim. It makes her sad sometimes, to think how bad things had to get before they made those changes, how much time was needlessly lost, but mostly she recognizes such thoughts as wasted energy. Here, now, they have another chance. That’s all that matters.

She’s just about caught up with sorting through her inbox when a rapping noise catches her attention and she looks up to find Laura leaning against her open door frame. “Hey,” she greets the younger woman. “How did it go?” Laura and Lucca had been out of the office most of the week attending to a trial of their own, defending a young man accused -- falsely, if Laura’s gut feeling is correct -- of participating in a drive-by shooting. 

“Good, I think,” Laura says. “The prosecution’s ballistics expert testified today, and the judge didn’t seem to find her particularly convincing in taking apart our guy’s theory.”

The words “she” and “ballistics expert” used in the same sentence are ordinarily enough to put Diane on edge, but today she lets the sentence slide right past, unacknowledged. Maybe it was her, maybe it wasn’t. It doesn’t matter. 

“Wonderful,” she says. “Did you cross?” 

Laura shakes her head. “Monday, so we have the weekend to prepare.” 

“Are you going to do it, or Lucca?” Her computer pings to signal an email, a response to something she sent out earlier. She opens it, scanning for the information she needs.

“I’m not sure. I was, but…” Laura’s voice trails off and some hint of hesitation in her goddaughter’s tone draws back her full attention. She looks up at her over the rims of her glasses. It’s not like Laura to be anything but forthright in her speech.

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing, never mind,” Laura says. “It’s fine. Lucca wants to do the cross because apparently she’s dealt with the witness before and thinks she’s slippery. Maybe she has a point. I’m newer at this than she is.”

But that wasn’t all. Laura’s face clearly broadcasts her feelings, and apparently the past isn’t going to let Diane ignore it today after all. “It’s her, isn’t it? Holly Westfall?”

Laura makes a face. “She came up to me in the hallway after court. Said she was a friend of ‘my godfather’s’. I didn’t get it at first; I thought she meant James, you know, Dad’s friend, my actual godfather.” 

Diane nods. James was one of their old group of friends from college; she had known him as long as her parents. “But she didn’t,” she says, continuing Laura’s story for her. “She meant Kurt.”

“Yeah. Once I figured that out, I said I didn’t really know him, that I had only met him a couple of times, years ago. She said something like she hoped you were doing well after the divorce, and walked away with a big old smirk on her face. It wasn’t until she was gone that I finally put two and two together.”

Diane sits very still, breathing deeply, trying to keep her head from exploding from her shoulders.  _ How dare she?  _ And why? Why now, two years later, is that little bitch trying to make trouble?

 

*****

 

Diane tells herself she will not allow Holly to poison her thoughts again, not now, when she is so far down the road to understanding and acceptance. In all of her conversations with Kurt, she has moved beyond seeing the affair as the major source of their problems, but rather as a symptom of larger and more elemental issues they need to work through. Oddly enough, acknowledging that the problem is bigger than it appeared has given her a sense of agency and ownership; looked at this way, it is not something that was done to her, but something she in part created. Understand how it was created, then deconstruct it and build it stronger the next time. That's her going theory, anyway. They have gone so much deeper into that tunnel now that she had actually almost forgotten about Holly, an insignificant blur far out at the other end of it. 

_ Insignificant seems a good word for her,  _ she thinks with some bitterness, but as the day goes on, Holly looms larger and larger in her field of vision until she feels almost back where she started, her stomach churning and her blood boiling, almost as distraught as she was in the days after she had been confronted with the truth.

She thought she was past this. She is not past this.

She does, at least, stop herself from storming into Lucca's office and inciting her to rip Holly to shreds ( _ oh _ , she remembers with a sickening lurch,  _ with all the skill she had used to rip Kurt to shreds _ ) or worse, demanding to deliver the cross herself. Neither of those things are smart strategy and won't bring her anything but the satisfaction, but she doesn't trust herself to resist the temptation. Deciding that removing herself from the situation is the safest course, she tells her assistant to hold her calls for the rest of the day, and heads home in hopes of finding some way to relax and take her mind off the whole thing.

She busies herself in preparing a dinner more elaborate than she would usually bother with for herself alone, tries to enjoy a hot bath with a glass of wine, opens the book that had been holding her captive but now finds she cannot focus long enough to comprehend a single sentence. Whatever she tries, Holly's face and her smug grin are always just on the edge of her consciousness. She scowls, furious with and disappointed in herself. For all her talk of growing and moving ahead, the mere mention of that woman's name seems to have sent her right back to her lowest point. 

When Kurt's call comes, almost like clockwork now, she is half afraid to take it, not trusting what she will say or do. But then, she thinks, perhaps he can help her find some peace about this. They are on the same side, at least; she knows that much for certain.

"Hey, Kurt," she answers, careful to keep her tone bright and steady.

"'And in myself, too, many things have perished which I imagined would last for ever, and new ones have arisen, giving birth to new sorrows and new joys which in those days I could not have foreseen, just as now the old are hard to understand.'"

She laughs, astonished, in spite of herself. "What are you doing?"

"Spouting Proust."

"Never thought I'd see the day." She shakes her head in amusement; she  _ does _ feel almost instantly better, just hearing his voice. 

"I did have some time to kill today, visiting Debbie. Handy thing to have around -- one of these books will probably keep me busy for a year."

"How is she doing?" she asks softly.

"All right, I guess," he sighs. "She's following the program, she'll be out in less than two weeks."

"You don't sound so pleased by that."

"Well, I am, as far as it goes. Just that she's gotten this far many times before."

"I know. I'm sorry, Kurt." 

"It is what it is. She's doing her best. Anyway, how are you?"

She closes her eyes, breathing deeply. There are so many more important things in both of their lives than that ridiculous woman and her own ridiculous reaction to her. She should really just let it go once and for all -- except there was no letting it go; there was only addressing it, or ignoring it. And she is done with the latter. Ridiculous or not, it is real.

"I had kind of a wake-up call today, I guess you could say." She twists the sash of her robe around her finger, nervous energy coursing through her. She is afraid to have this conversation, but she is equally afraid not to.

"That sounds ominous," he replies, and it is a light-hearted remark, but his voice betrays some real concern.

"Holly is testifying for the prosecution in a case my firm is working on," she says quickly, before she loses her nerve. "I didn't think it would affect me so strongly, after all this time, after all we've talked about..."

He is quiet, but she can hardly blame him this time. What could he say?

"I know we haven't talked about that --  _ her  _ \-- much, largely at my insistence. I thought there were other, more important, things to talk about, I thought we had already said everything there was to say about this, but..." She shakes her head, angrily fighting off tears she can't believe she still has for this subject. "I'm still struggling with it, Kurt."

"I understand, Diane, I--" He swears lightly, clearly finding this attempt and anything else that comes to mind inadequate as a response. "I'm sorry. I don't know what to say."

"Maybe there's nothing to say. It just is."

"Everything else we've talked about, Diane, hard as it is, I can face it because... it's something we can change, something we can work on, something we can talk through. But this..." he sighs, miserable. "I can't change this. I can't undo this."

"It's not that. Well, it's not just that. It’s me, too, I can’t..." She trails off, looking for words to explain that she scarcely expects to find. 

"It's not you, Diane. If you still feel this way, it's because I gave you every reason to. I'm so sorry."

She shakes her head, swiping away a tear that threatens at the corner of one eye. "Even before you gave me reason to, I worried, I imagined horrible things, I don't know why. No -- I do know why. The thought of losing you was the worst thing I could imagine. God, that sounds pathetic."

"No. It's not pathetic. It was my worst fear, too."

She laughs bitterly. "And yet we kept letting it happen, over, and over, and over."

"We're not going to let it happen anymore," he says with a certainty she wishes she could feel right now. But if they can at least take turns at being the determined optimist, perhaps that will see them through for now.

She takes in a deep breath and lets it out. One way or the other, they have to face this and put it to rest once and for all. And for once, she doesn't have the answer. She needs him to help her to get there. 

"So you can't change what you've done and I can't change how I feel. What do we do?"

They both fall silent. The steady sound of Kurt’s breathing is reassuring. He’s still there, not yet weary of her inability to let this go. She shifts in her seat, tucking the phone between her shoulder and her ear as he finally answers her question.


	8. Chapter 8

“What if I come up there tomorrow,” he suggests. “I can visit with Deb early in the morning then make the drive. Come back down the next day. We can talk in person, have some dinner. No funny business,” he hastens to add. “I’ll stay at the Westin.”

She considers this. They had agreed it would be better to work on their issues from afar, where the physical couldn’t intrude, and desire wouldn’t make them rush the process so they could get on with more pleasurable activities. But now, after hours of talking and making good progress, the problem is a different one, and not one that talking is going to fix. The past is never going to change; she is either going to be able to live with it or not. Perhaps it’s looming large in her mind now because there is nothing positive to counteract it. Perhaps if he were here in front of her where she could see the love in his eyes for her and no one else, where she could feel the connection they’ve always had binding them together, it would be easier to see her way clear to a time where Holly is just a part of the past: unpleasant, yes, but irrelevant to them and their future.

“I’d like that,” she says now, and almost immediately feels lighter. A smile blossoms across her face at the idea of seeing him again, of maybe at last feeling his arms around her, of pulling his face to hers for a goodnight kiss. She won’t consider the next step in that progression, not now when it’s probably still too soon, but that doesn’t mean the thought isn’t there in the back of her mind, warming her blood.

“Good. I’ll call you tomorrow when I know what time I’ll get there.”

“Wait,” she says, another thought occurring to her. “What about Joey?”

Kurt laughs. “He’s a grown man, Diane. He’ll be fine for one night. Might even be grateful to have me out of his hair for a while.”

As much as she can’t imagine anyone being happy to not have Kurt around, she supposes that’s true. “Okay. I’m looking forward to it,” she says, voice falling to almost a whisper.

“Me too.”

***

Diane had hoped she and Kurt would have a chance to talk before dinner, to get any heavy conversation out of the way so they could have a pleasant, angst-free meal and… whatever the rest of the evening might bring.

Unfortunately that was not to be, as one thing after another delayed first his departure, and then his trip: he couldn’t get in early to see Debbie, she had a difficult time at group therapy, there was construction on the interstate. Diane tried valiantly not to take all the difficulties as some kind of sign, but the idea floated up at steady intervals despite her efforts.  _ Maybe this is a bad idea. _

Well, bad idea or not, she’s doing it. To save time, Kurt drove straight to the hotel and they planned to meet in the dining room for dinner. It doesn’t escape her that this is the scene of their first date, the origins of their current Proust discussion, the very same hotel where she paced the lobby trying to decide whether she wanted him badly enough to strut back into the dining room she had just left, and ended up strutting right into him instead.

Not finding him after a quick scan of the lobby, she enters the dining room, mentions his name, and follows the hostess to a table slightly to the left of the one they’d been at that night so many years earlier.

They’ve been here numerous times since then, of course. It had been Kurt’s first choice of hotel whenever he stayed in town, and remained one of his favourite restaurants long after he no longer had need for a hotel in the city. But that first night, that’s the one she remembers, the one she torments herself with from every angle. The one she replays over and over in her most private moments. It’s fitting that their new beginning may start, really start, here where it originally began.

“Hey,” he says coming up from behind her, hand brushing against the back of her shoulder, ruffling her hair as he passes. “Sorry it took me so long to get here.” He pulls out the chair next to hers and sits.

“You’re here now,” she says, her stomach fluttering at his casual touch. He looks good, if a little tired, a bit worse for the wear after the long drive.

“I am. And I’m starving,” he says as the server approaches and hands them their menus and takes their drink orders.

“You’ve had a long day already,” Diane says. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”

He looks up from his menu, their eyes catching and holding. In contrast to the last time they were together, there is nothing uncertain in his gaze now. His eyes drop to her lips, and automatically her tongue darts out to lick them. “Always,” he says, eyes slowing returning to hers.

She doesn’t look away and neither does he, the air between them heated almost to the boiling point already and their drinks haven’t even been served yet. She’s trying to think of something to say, some way to slow this down to a more manageable pace, when he blinks and his eyes move a few inches to the right.

“Shit,” he swears softly.

"What is it?" she asks, studying his typically inscrutable face.

"SA's office usually puts their witnesses up in this hotel," Kurt mutters, turning his attention back to her, and she immediately understands.

"And she's in town testifying," Diane completes the thought flatly. She can feel the blood draining from her face, immediately stricken at the mere thought of her again.

He reaches out to take her hand across the table, his eyes full of concern as he sees for himself the effect this has on her. "You wanna get out of here?"

She shakes her head and forces a grim smile, squeezing his hand back before withdrawing it again to take a sip of water. "No. Let’s not allow her to disrupt our lives."

"We won't, but I want us to be able to enjoy our time together, too," he persists.

"We'll stay," she says decisively, looking up to catch their server's eye and beckon her back to the table. Before Kurt can protest further, she puts in her order, and waits for a scowling Kurt to do the same. She still feels anxious, knowing that Holly is nearby, that she will notice them soon enough, and will certainly feel compelled to come over and say something. But this is a demon she needs to confront head on.

"I'll never get over the sight of you eating healthily," she says after the waitress has left again, trying to change the subject to something less charged with emotion.

"Wish I'd listened to you years ago," he smiles a little sheepishly, accepting her decision to stay and taking his cues from her. "I'm actually amazed how much better I feel."

"Maybe I'll get you into a yoga class yet," she laughs. Focusing on him, on them, she does begin to feel better. She will not give that horrible woman an ounce of control over her emotions.

"I think I'd like that. Or maybe some private instruction," he adds, his voice dropping low.

She smirks back at him in agreement. "I can be a demanding teacher."

"Oh, I'm sure," he readily agrees, a wolfish grin spreading across his face now.

She feels at ease now, falling back into their usual comfortable banter. If this is how it's going to be, she thinks, she can live with this quite happily. Nothing seems so desperate as it did last night, not even with the cause of her dread in the very same room with her. Perhaps she will never be quite  _ over _ it, perhaps these feelings will always creep up on her from time to time. But if she can look into his eyes and see this love, this longing, reflected back at her, all the rest of it will simply fade away as the meaningless noise it is.

"I'm glad you came," she says warmly, her eyes searching his, turning his hand over on the table, lightly running her fingertips across his palm.

"Me too. Feels like forever, even though we talk almost every day."

She leans forward, dangerously close to him, close enough to take in the smell of him --  _ two years _ , she thinks distractedly, her body instantly thrumming with need, but it's all so familiar it might as well have been yesterday.

"Maybe we've done everything we can from a distance..." she says hoarsely, resting her forehead against his.

He leans against her with a little sigh of relief she can feel more than hear and her eyes drift closed, lost to everything around her but the warm feeling of his skin against hers. He deepens the contact by sliding his nose alongside hers, so close now she can feel the prickle of his moustache against her upper lip, and she allows herself to acknowledge just how much she has  _ ached  _ for him to touch her like this again. Just she processes the thought of devouring him in kisses, he pulls away slowly, leaving her breathless and stunned.

He sits back in his chair, studying her reaction, still holding her hand and stroking the back of it lightly with his thumb. She opens her eyes slowly, burning under his gaze and his touch, entwining her fingers with his.

"You're killing me," she whispers, laughing lightly.

"I didn't even see her bring our drinks," he laughs too, taking a long sip of his beer while his eyes continue to drink her in.

_ Oh god, _ she thinks, a jolt of desire coursing through her.  _ If we get out of here, it won't be to escape Holly. _

She bites her lip, then blurts it out before she can reconsider. "I can't sleep with you, Kurt."

He laughs again, looking down and back up at her in amusement.  _ Famous last words, _ she knows he is thinking. She said that once before, and she held out all of a minute.

But he says, "I'm in no rush. Kind of enjoying taking it slow."

"In an agonizing way," she agrees, then observes wryly, "Sex was never a problem for us."

"Nope," he laughs, then thinks twice. "Well..."

"Well what?" she challenges him, swatting his arm playfully.

"It wasn't a problem, but sometimes I think we treated it as the only solution."

"Oh, you're getting very wise," she says lightly, but she knows he's onto something.

"I know there were times when I was upset or worried about something, and I didn't talk it through with you, but if we went to bed together..."

She nods, sipping her wine. "I've been thinking about that, too. And it's not the worst thing. We always connected and understood one another on that level, didn't we? That's so special, and so important. But we used it as a shortcut, too, when it was easier than saying the things we needed to say, and we can't do that anymore."

"We won't. We know better now." He clears his throat. "But I certainly don't want to rush it. Hard as that is."

"Excruciating."

She catches him looking at her lips in preoccupation again and laughs, delighting in the effect she has on him. And, she considers, it might not only be healthy for them to continue to put off resuming their physical relationship for a while longer; it might also be exciting. She had never managed to resist him, in their years of drifting in and out of each other's lives. She never even tried. Now it is taking a concerted effort to avoid the thought that he has a room they can escape to a mere elevator ride away, and it is driving her wild.

"Diane," he says quietly, and the sudden gravity of his tone brings her crashing back to reality. "I didn't think she would but -- she's coming over here."

 


	9. Chapter 9

Diane pulls back and sits up straight, mentally preparing herself for the confrontation. Leave it to Kurt to still think the best of Holly, even after everything that's happened. Diane knew very well that a woman who couldn't resist getting in a few jabs at her goddaughter could not possibly walk away from the opportunity to throw this in her face directly. Her coming over was only a matter of _when_ , not _if_. 

"Kurt, hi! Imagine running into you here!" Holly greets him with her usual smug grin and forced enthusiasm. She reaches out to touch his shoulder, which he instantly recoils from. Ignoring the reaction, Holly turns to Diane, then her face instantly falls, horrified. Diane realizes she couldn't tell until just now that it had been his ex-wife sitting across from him the whole time, and she clearly can't believe it.

Emboldened by her shocked response, Diane looks back up at the younger woman, a slight twist to her smile that she cannot suppress. "Hello, Holly."

“Uh, hi,” Holly says, giving a little finger-wave, clearly thrown off her game, but foolishly plowing ahead. “Diane. It’s an even bigger surprise to see you here.” Her plastic toothy grin belatedly slides back into place.

“I can’t imagine why,” Diane says politely. Under the table, Kurt’s hand finds her knee and squeezes lightly.

“Well, because…” The other woman’s voice trails off as she looks from Diane to Kurt and back, as both watch her with expressions of mild distaste. “Because I didn’t think you were together anymore.”

Diane only shrugs, eyebrows lifting slightly. She’s certainly not interested in discussing her relationship with this woman, but it’s amusing to watch her grow more and more agitated by their distinct lack of response to her intrusion.

Giving up on Diane, she turns back to Kurt. “Kurt, it’s been way too long,” she pronounces with overblown enthusiasm. “We simply must get together for a drink soon and catch up.”

Even Kurt’s normally stoic façade can’t hold up to that kind of lunacy. “What?” he asks, incredulous.

“I’ll call you,” she insists. “We’ll set something up.”

He looks to Diane, eyebrows angled together in disbelief. She smiles back at him and, feeling strangely above all this, slides her hand under the table to cover his still on her knee. It’s fine. She knows what the other woman is trying to do, trying to imply that she has some kind of ongoing relationship with Kurt. It’s transparent and ridiculous, and truth be told, she feels just the tiniest bit sorry for her. Not much, but some.

“Stop it,” Kurt says now. “Holly, I’m sorry if I haven’t been clear, though I’m pretty sure I have been, but we won’t be having drinks, or anything else, ever again. I don’t know what you think you’re trying to do here, but…”

“Fine,” Holly snaps. “I get it.  _ She’s _ paying attention to you now, so you have no more use for me. Whatever.” The blonde turns on her heel and stalks off, leaving Kurt and Diane staring after her.

Only now, for the first time since she found out about the affair, does Diane realize something. “She actually had feelings for you,” she says to Kurt in surprise. It had never even occurred to her to wonder what Holly’s feelings were for Kurt, what kind of relationship she thought they had, whether she was sad when it was over.

Kurt scoffs. “No. She knew I loved you. I never misled her about that.”

“We woman can be quite adept at self-deception, dear. You may have told her, but that doesn’t mean she heard.”

The server arrives then with their meals, and Diane welcomes the interruption as an opportunity to reset the evening, and move on to more pleasant topics.

And they do. The next hour passes easily as they talk about everything and nothing. The only shadow occurs when she finds Kurt once again looking past her and turns to see Holly leaving the room in the company of a man old enough to be her father. Clearly, she has a type, Diane thinks with a shrug, about to comment as much to Kurt. She thinks better of it when she notes his expression, an odd mixture of relief and regret.

She reaches across the table to cover his hand with hers. “She’s a grown woman, Kurt. You made her no promises and you’re not responsible for her feelings.”

He shakes his head. “I know. You’re right. And your feelings are the only ones I’m concerned about now. I just…” He turns his hand over and laces their fingers together. He doesn’t have to complete the sentence for her to know what he means. He’s a good man; he doesn’t want to have hurt anyone. It's a strange thing to think, but she loves him even more for that.

The server returns to clear their dishes and they both order decaffeinated coffee, a thinly veiled ruse to delay the decision either to leave or move this conversation elsewhere.

Kurt makes a face as he takes a sip. “I’ll never get used to this stuff,” he says. “Doctor says keep caffeine to a minimum. I’m only allowed one real one in the morning.”

“You should try tea,” she suggests. “I have some good naturally caffeine-free herbal teas that are nice before bed.”

“Maybe someday I’ll get the chance to sample one,” he says, looking at her intently, and she blushes. Clearly the  _ tea _ was not the part of that sentence that caught his attention.

“No doubt,” she says, taking a gulp of her lukewarm coffee.

As they sip their way through a second refill, the restaurant begins to empty out. Before long they’re the only ones left.

“I guess we should go,” she says reluctantly, after the server offers to take their payment for the second time.

“Yeah. I guess so,” he agrees. “But I have to say, I’m not really ready for this evening to end.”

"No," she smiles back at him, glad he was the one to say it but quick to agree. "I'm not, either."

"So where to?" he asks, leaving that much to her to decide.

A look passes between them that makes her heart race. Half of her thinks they should throw their agreement to take things slow out the window, half of her screams at her to run before they are tempted to do exactly that. Splitting the difference, she opts to delay a little longer.

"Why don't we go for a walk?" she suggests. "It's a lovely night."

They step outside and find it is indeed beautiful out, a spring night still warm even so close to midnight and so near to the water. They cross over to Wacker Drive and wander down to the Riverwalk, making idle chitchat about the view and people they pass. Lights from the surrounding buildings play across the rippling water and the moon is full and bright ahead of them. Wordlessly, she links her arm through his, and gives it a little squeeze. The gesture that seemed so imprudent and impossible the last time they walked along together is now the most natural thing in the world.

"Are you leaving very early tomorrow?" she asks, wishing he didn't have to go at all.

"Yeah, gonna try to hit the road by 8. I'll make it back down there by visiting hours, and then I'll scrounge up some food with Joe."

"You're a good man, Kurt McVeigh." She smiles over at him.

"Yeah, well..." He trails off. It is getting easier to hear words of trust and admiration from her, but something in him is still at war with himself, she can tell. Then again, she supposes he always would have screwed up his face like that when complimented for something he views as basic human decency.

"You are," she insists. "And you're flawed and weak and scared, too, just like everyone else, just like me. Believe me, I know that. I think we were both guilty of idolizing one another before."

He nods, laughing quietly in agreement.

"Maybe we see each other more clearly now. And I still think you're a good man." She pauses for a moment, playing over in her mind two or three times the words she has scarcely allowed herself to consider, let alone speak. She knows it is true. And she knows it is time.

She stops suddenly, and waits for him to turn back and face her. Her voice shakes, but he can see the steadiness in her eyes when she adds, "And I still love you."

She watches every stage of his reaction flash across his face, unguarded: surprise, then uncertainty, then acceptance. And then at last the calm that comes with his own truth, and the freedom at last to speak it out loud. "I love you, too," he says softly.

They resume walking; it is all they can do after sharing something so simple, and so profound. Letting his arm fall around her waist, he pulls her closer to him, then looks over at her to gauge whether it’s okay. Her smile and her own arm around his assure him it is.

They walk along in silence for several minutes, both gradually recognizing their own exhaustion, but loathe to voice it and put an end to the night. Nothing more needs said for now, and they are both content just to be together, secure in each other's arms, and in this peaceful understanding they have come to.

After a while she slows to a stop, pulling away slightly and letting her arm drop from around his waist to find his hand and gently lead him over to the railing overlooking the water. He follows, and they both stand side by side, gazing out at the view, shoulders touching, neither one willing to break what physical contact they have decided to allow themselves.

His attention turns from the view to her, watching her silently for a long time before he asks, "What're you thinking about?"

"Nothing," she laughs, looking over at him and holding his gaze steadily. "And as much as I drive myself crazy with my own thoughts, that's a really nice thing."

She leans over, testing the boundaries they are constantly redrawing, resting her head on his shoulder. He turns toward her just slightly, breathing in deeply the smell of her hair, and allowing his head to fall against hers. This awkward half-embrace -- both tender and needful, promising of but so far from what they both want -- makes her heart start to race again, and she burrows her head closer to him, until her forehead comes to rest against the bare skin of his neck.

She can tell, then, that his pulse is beating as rapidly as hers, and he is fighting just as hard to take this slow. He adjusts to encircle her waist with one arm again, pulling her against him as she raises her head just slightly to press a slow, deliberate series of kisses against his neck and jaw. She stops, then, just breathing deeply of the scent of him, making no move to continue.

"Now you're killing me," he whispers, pulling back just enough to look her in the eyes, half-closed in mixed pleasure and exhaustion. She laughs a little wickedly at this, to which he responds by dropping his hand slowly lower, his fingertips lightly grazing the small of her back and then her ass.

"Kurt..." she exhales more than says, reaching back to hold his hand there as she turns to face him, backing against the railing. He doesn't hesitate to move directly in front of her, encircling her with both arms now, inclining his forehead against hers again as they both try to catch their breath.

She takes hold of both his hips and pulls him against her, until he's pushing her against the railing, pinning her in place. She knows this is a dangerous move for both of them, isn't going to make it any easier to walk away from this tonight, but  _ god  _ she needs to feel the weight of him against her.

He lets out a little groaning noise that surprises them both, and her eyes flutter open for a moment, taking in the look of equal need on his face. Need, mixed with adoration and astonishment, as if he cannot believe they are here, and now that they are he cannot bear to let her go.

She closes her eyes again and slowly closes what little distance there is between them until her lips press softly against his. He waits, waits to be sure this is really happening, to be sure this isn't a mistake she will quickly retract, but when she moves her hands up to cup his face, he responds eagerly, overriding her unhurried pace, kissing her long and hard until she slides her fingers back through his hair, clenching and then soothing back fistfuls of it in her hands.

She whimpers lightly as he sucks on and releases her lower lip, then gently presses playful little kisses there, and she can feel him smiling against her skin, enjoying the reactions he knows he can coax out of her. She wants to forget where they are, forget their decision earlier to wait, but she is just mindful enough to know they were more clear-headed then, and must have had their reasons, though they seem so remote and senseless now. Giving him one last, sound kiss, she pulls back and presses her cheek to his, and whispers, "I think I should go."

He sighs in obvious frustration, but kisses her cheek and nods. He steps back and allows her some space to collect herself; she laughs, slightly dizzy, falling against him again for a moment for support. Then, taking her hand, he leads them toward the next path back to the street.

"Remind me again why we're waiting?" he asks with an exaggerated expression of pain.

"Because we don't want to rush into anything and ruin our chances in the long run," she says, needing to hear that reminder just as much as he does.

"Right, right."

"Besides,” she goes on in a more joking tone, “Are you sure you’re even up for it, after your heart attack? The last thing I want to do is  _ kill _ you." After a moment, she adds wryly: "At least not anymore."

He laughs. "We have plenty of reasons to wait, but  _ that _ isn't one of them. I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" she presses, teasing him.

"Yeah. I'm  sure ."

She laughs, but a moment later her stomach drops. The firmness in his tone makes his meaning clear. "Oh," she says softly.

"Wait, what?" He stops walking and pulls her back to face him gently, not understanding what has happened, but aware something most definitely has.

"I get it. You're sure you can, because you..." She trails off and waves her hand vaguely.

It's silly. She hardly expected him to wait for her for two years. But still she can't find it in her to say the words.  _Because you already have._

He stares back at her blankly, mentally trying to complete the sentence she won't. Several long, painful seconds pass before he makes the connection, his eyes going suddenly wide. "I  _ meant _ because my check-ups have been great, because I run every morning..."

She throws her head back in laughter, relieved and only a little embarrassed, but mostly seeing the hilarity now in the entire exchange.

He laughs, too, plainly dazzled by the sight of her laughing. "They say it's equivalent to a 30-minute jog."

"Hmmm..." Diane makes an exaggerated show of considering this claim, then shrugs. "Well, maybe for some people."

For them, and certainly after so much time, what she has in mind might be a bit more strenuous. But even so, he seems up for it.

They resume walking, linking arms again, both still laughing quietly and shaking their heads. Soon,  _ too _ soon, they are in view of the street.

"For the record," he says, as if there is one last thing he needs to say before they reach it. "There hasn't been anyone since you."

She smiles over at him. "Good to know."

"Not that I ever expected we'd find ourselves here again. But I certainly wasn't interested in anyone else."

She turns to face him once they reach the sidewalk, letting her hands come to rest on his chest again. "Neither was I."

They catch each other's eye again, and for a moment everything feels so right, at once so charged with gentle understanding and devouring need. She knows she’s dangerously close to throwing all caution out the window once and for all. And she is forgetting again why or whether that would be such a bad thing.

"I guess I'll grab a cab," she says regretfully, biting her lip and looking with amusement at his. Under the glare of the streetlights, she can see they are colored with traces of her lipstick. "Do you want me to drop you off at the hotel?"

"Nah," he laughs, giving her hand a squeeze. "I think I'd better walk this off."

She shares his laughter and then, with a palpable sense of loss, drops his hand, and steps forward to flag down a cab. A car pulls up to the curb, and she leans over to gesture to the driver that she needs just a minute.

"Well, goodnight," she says huskily, playing with the buttons on his shirt. "Sweet dreams."

"That's just about guaranteed," he says wryly. "Goodnight, Diane."

They share one last, lingering kiss before she tears herself away, getting into the cab before she even turns back to wave, afraid if she doesn't she might never leave.

He smiles and watches her go, his hands in his pockets, and she settles back in her seat when he is out of sight, slightly frustrated but full of contentment at the night they shared. Soon, she knows, the day will come when neither of them will ever have to leave again.


	10. Chapter 10

Early Sunday morning, Diane hums cheerily to herself as she moves from room to room, opening the windows to let in the sun and the sweet summer breeze. Perhaps later, she'll call Laura and see if she wants to take in the new exhibit at the Art Institute, but her only plan for the morning is to putter around home, tidying this and that, reliving the previous evening where no one can judge the random grins she can't quite contain.

First though, still clad in her silky short pyjamas and robe, she takes a cup of tea, a slice of toast, and her book out to the lounge chair on the little balcony off her bedroom. The low walls that line the small area are carefully designed so that no one can see her, yet open enough that she can enjoy the feel of the breeze wafting over her. She doesn’t bring her phone with her: Kurt texted earlier that he was hitting the road and that he'd call her when he was safely back at Debbie's. That means several more hours until she hears from him again, and she desires contact with no one else.

Her tea is cold, and she makes a face when she forgets and takes a sip anyway. She’s managed maybe two pages of her book in the past hour, distracted as she’s been by memories of the night before, of Kurt’s arms around her, of his hands sliding down her back and over her ass, of his lips on hers and his tongue sliding into her mouth. Even the memory of them barely getting started has her so wound up, she’s been approaching the edge of orgasm most of the morning, squirming in her seat, unsure whether she should just finish the job herself, or go find her phone and call him to come back on some feigned emergency. Or perhaps, she debates with herself half-seriously, this qualifies as a real one.

Forcing both options from her mind, she has just stood up, thinking to replace her cold tea, when from inside the house she hears the chime of the doorbell. _Who on earth?_ It's still too early for even the pushiest door-to-door solicitors, and the only person who would ever drop by on a Sunday morning without calling is Laura, who scorns doorbells as a general rule, and would just let herself in.

She'll ignore whoever it is, and they'll go away, she decides, mindful of her inappropriate attire. It probably _is_ just someone selling religion or a faster internet service, neither of which she's in the market for.

Wrinkling her nose when the chime comes again, she doesn't lose her resolve, lurking just inside the sliding glass door, afraid her moving shadow on a wall might give away her presence. It's only when it bing-bongs for the third time that she finally gives in to her curiosity. She slips into the hall and tiptoes out to the living room window where she can just catch a glimpse of the front doorstep, hopefully without the visitor noticing the movement of the curtains.

Her jaw drops open in astonishment when she sees who her uninvited guest is. He stands on her doorstep, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans as if there for the duration whether she answers the door or not.

"Kurt, what are you doing here?" she asks as she flings the door open.

"Sorry, did I wake you up?" he asks, or at least he mouths the words, but he’s clearly lost interest in the answer before the question is even completely articulated. His mouth falls open slightly as his eyes roam down her body. It’s only then she remembers what she’s wearing. Looking down, she discovers her robe has come undone and quickly she pulls the sides together and takes a step backwards out of view of the street. He follows her inside and closes the door behind himself.

“No, you didn't wake me,” she says as tries to force the ties of her robe into something resembling a knot. For some reason her fingers are refusing to cooperative. “What are you _doing_ here?” she repeats, trying to ignore all the tingling in her body his admiring gaze is setting off. Had her earlier erotic daydreams somehow summoned him?

He forces his eyes up to her face. "Truck broke down twenty minutes outside the city,” he says, running his hand through his hair.  "Got it towed to a shop where I know a guy, but they're not open today. I asked the tow truck driver to drop me here. Sorry, I didn't know where else to go. I hoped maybe you'd give me a lift out to the farm."

“Oh. Oh, um, of course. Yes, I can do that.” Or he could just stay here. That would be easier. She wouldn’t have to go back and pick him up tomorrow when the truck was fixed. He could stay in the guest room. They’re adults, aren’t they?

Judging by the look on his face, what they are is probably all _too_ adult. “I’ll just go get dressed,” she adds gloomily.

“Okay,” he agrees, equally unenthusiastically. Their eyes meet and desire flashes through her again, heat pooling low in her stomach. Why are they denying themselves? It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? It’s not like this is a new relationship they aren’t sure they want yet. They’re in love. They were married. She never intends to let him go again, and she knows he feels the same. Why torture themselves any longer?

She takes a tentative step towards him. He takes one towards her.

And his phone rings, shattering the spell. He pulls it from his breast pocket, checks the display, then taps the screen and lifts the phone to his face. “Hello? Joe? Joey, calm down. What happened?”

Diane freezes in place, eyes widening.

"Just tell me what happened," Kurt repeats in calm, measured tones. He turns his back to Diane and starts to pace the room, belying his own anxiety.

She watches him with concern, can tell by his gait, the slump of his shoulders, that something terrible has happened.

"Well, they _can_ , Joe, you know the rules -- and so does she," he sighs heavily. "Yeah... -- yeah, I was on my way but the old truck broke down, I'm stuck in Chicago..."

Diane goes over to him, her hand firm and reassuring on his shoulder, drifting down to rub small circles into his upper back. He looks up at her, manages a weak, crooked smile, and continues to Joey: "But I can see if maybe..."

Reading his mind, she nods instantly, mouthing the words: _Of course_.

His eyes silently telegraph back: _thank you._ "Yeah, Joe, don't worry about it, we'll be on our way soon."

Diane is standing close enough now that she can hear the other end of the conversation, a skeptical _"Who's 'we'?"_

"Diane's gonna drive me." He doesn't wait for a reaction to that, not wanting her to hear it, and not much interested in it himself. "'Bout six hours, you all right till then?"

She hears his glum reply, _"Yeah."_

"All right. Call if you need to. Bye."

Kurt disconnects the call and pockets the phone, rubbing his forehead wearily.

"What happened?" Diane asks gently, already having some idea what it must be.

"Debbie got herself kicked out of rehab. Her roommate had a friend sneak in some stuff during visiting hours, and she shared, of course Debbie can't resist..."

"Oh, Kurt, I'm so sorry."

"Two weeks clean, down the drain," he shrugs angrily, shaking his head. "I hate to drag you into this, Diane."

"Please! I'm glad to help, I hope you know that. You _and_ your family."

"It's a lot to ask," he persists, looking apologetic, but grateful.

"Not at all. I had no plans today, and nothing tomorrow that can't be rescheduled."

"Well, thank you," he says softly, some the tension he is carrying melting away as he really looks into her eyes, and smiles.

They are both suddenly very aware of how close they’re standing, and that her hand is still on him, stalled now at his lower back. She withdraws it and steps away reluctantly. If they had been interrupted for anything even slightly less important, she would have thrown their phones in a drawer and pushed him onto the nearest forgiving surface, putting an end to their torment. But now is not the time to get caught up in one another.

Her body still screaming at her to do the opposite, she moves away from him in the direction of her bedroom. "Just give me twenty minutes, okay? I'll clean myself up, pack an overnight bag."

He nods, clearly just as sorry to see her go.

***

The drive is long and uneventful, and reminds them constantly of how they would both prefer to be spending an idle Sunday morning. She tries to keep up some lighthearted conversation, then looks to the radio for support, but neither has ever been able to agree on a station. Switching it off again, she resigns herself to drifting between long stretches of silence and banal comments, equally charged with unexpressed and thwarted lust. She frequently catches him stealing a glance at her legs and bared arms in this casual summer shift dress she has chosen -- and if she's honest, it was chosen with that intention in mind. If they can't touch, they might as well look. And isn't she doing him a favor by taking his mind off his troubles?

As they get closer to their destination, Diane lapses into a silence of a different kind, becoming nervous about what kind of scene and reception they will find. She has only met Debbie a few times, but each time it has been tense, Diane picking up on something in Debbie's attitude that was detached at best, and at times almost actively hostile. She had tried to affect a gracious and civil attitude toward her if only for Kurt's sake, but she had the distinct impression Debbie only took that as an act of condescension, and reacted even less well. Even for Kurt, Diane struggled to make nice with unreasonable people, and eventually decided the best she could do was to keep her distance. The two women were never going to be friends, and if anything, Diane imagines, she's likely to be a lot less inclined to get along now, after divorcing her brother.

To say nothing of how she'll behave in whatever state she may be in now, after relapsing. Seeing Diane may be the very last thing she needs. She hadn't thought of it when she offered to help Kurt, but now she can't help but wonder whether her presence is likely to do more harm than good.

Sensing her shift in mood, Kurt reaches over and strokes her arm gently as they drive into his hometown. He says nothing, but smiles at her steadily, with gratitude and admiration, and that's all she needs to set her resolve. She will do what she can to help Debbie, or if need be, she'll just stay out of her way. But first and foremost, she's here for Kurt, and she knows she can help him.

She pulls up the drive, steeled for whatever may come. They barely have their car doors open, however, when they hear the screen door slam and see Joey rushing down to meet them.

"Hey, Joe," Kurt says, pulling the younger man into an embrace.

"Thanks for hurrying back," he says, then raises a hand in quick greeting to Diane. "And thanks for driving him."

"Of course," Diane smiles back at him, then moves to get her bag from the trunk.

"Listen, um, I really appreciate everything, but Mom's not doing so good and I think it might be better if, you know..." Joey trails off nervously, talking quickly to Kurt as if Diane can't hear.

"No, I don't know," Kurt says sternly. His tone implies that he very well does, but he's challenging his nephew to say it out loud.

"I just think she doesn't need a lot of excitement right now, and--" He looks down, embarrassed.

Kurt squares his shoulders, quietly furious. "Diane just drove six hours, took two days out of her busy schedule to help us. Like hell--"

Diane walks around to the other side of the car and places her hand on his arm gently. "I'm sure I can find a place in town, if it would be easier..."

Kurt looks over at her in concern, torn, wanting to stand his ground but hating to put her in a difficult position. "Do you want to go?" he asks her quietly.

She smiles back at him, a version, she hopes, of the heartening smile he offered her back in the car. "I want to be where you need me to be."

He nods, reaching over and taking her hand, a gesture meant as much to reassure her as to tell Joey just how things were now. "I want you here with me."

As far as she was concerned, that settled it.

 


	11. Chapter 11

As she follows Kurt and Joey up the walkway to the little house, Diane recalls the story Kurt told her during their first drive down here, shortly after they got engaged. Debbie and her husband married right out of high school, the perfect happy country couple, ready to learn about, and someday take over the family farm; they built this house on a corner of Debbie and Kurt's parents' land. It should have been a wonderful future full of love and children and hard, but honest work.

But the years passed, and no children arrived. That was difficult enough, but they tried to stay hopeful, talking about adoption when they passed the ten-year mark. Then Debbie and Kurt's mother passed away, followed soon after by their father, both of them after quick but brutal illnesses, leaving huge holes in the farming operation and massive medical bills. Debbie and Joe's marriage was under ever-increasing stress, and both husband and wife began drinking more than they should.

After his father's funeral, Kurt stayed home temporarily to help out, and by the time he moved away again a year later, he believed everything was under control: if not exactly good, then at least stable. And it stayed that way for a long time. Eventually, a miracle happened and Debbie became pregnant. The couple were thrilled to be finally having the baby they'd longed for. Debbie quit drinking immediately, and everyone thought Joe had as well, at least until the night he wrapped his truck around a tree. He died instantly; his son Joey was born two weeks later.

Kurt again put his own life on hold and came back to help, but he had never wanted to be a full-time farmer and Debbie couldn't manage alone. There was no other choice but to sell. All that remained of their parent's property now was Debbie's little house and a couple of acres surrounding it. She should have been able to have a big garden, some chickens or goats, but that had never quite worked out and now it was mostly just an overgrown mess. Debbie worked off and on at other area farms, but the drinking, and more recently, prescription pain pills, always got the better of her eventually.

It's a sad story made sadder still when Diane looks at Joey. In him she sees a younger version of Kurt, with the same slow grin and quiet determination. But instead of directing that determination into building a life for himself, it's being used in a misguided attempt to save a woman who doesn't want to be saved. She knows his uncle has offered to fund his education numerous times, but the boy refuses to leave his mother to her own self-destructive devices.

"Where is she?" Kurt asks, as Joey precedes him into the house. He holds the door open while Diane passes and then enters himself, easing the aluminium screen door closed behind him.

"Sleeping it off," Joey says. "If you're good, I gotta get back to work now."

Kurt nods, and waves him off. "Yeah, we're good. Go." Joey grabs a helmet and an apron of some sort from the coffee table then disappears back out the door they just entered, letting the screen bang shut. A minute later, Diane hears the roar of a motorcycle spitting gravel down the driveway.

The living room they're standing in is shabby, but clean. A small, worn couch and a couple of armchairs face a fat, old-fashioned television set. Family pictures cover the walls and most of the available surfaces. She's been here before but always under Debbie's watchful eye, and she never felt comfortable enough to look closely at the framed photographs. She seizes the opportunity now, walking around the small room, looking at each one in turn until she finds what she was hoping to see. The noise she makes when she picks it up could only be called a squeal. She examines the old-fashioned photograph of a young boy in a fur cap, grinning proudly with a rifle in his hand and a dog at his feet.

"Yep, that's me," Kurt says, coming up behind her, his hands landing on her hips. "First time Dad let me hunt with my own gun."

"You look so proud," she says, twisting her head back to look at him.

"I was. Even prouder when I bagged myself a rabbit." His hands leave her hips and slide around her waist as he steps closer and she leans back, nestling against him. His chin comes to rest on her shoulder.

"I'm glad that's not in the picture," she says, and he laughs into her hair, then steps back. She shivers from the loss of his body heat.

"Come on upstairs. I'll show you the guest room," he invites.

He leads the way up the stairs to a narrow hallway covered in dingy flowered wallpaper. One of the doors is closed - Debbie's room, obviously - and one is a bathroom, light blue tile visible on the floor. Kurt turns into the first of the other two rooms.

She follows him in to find a bedroom almost completely filled up by a neatly made double bed, a small dresser and nightstand, and a straight-back chair holding a stack of folded clothing. The single window is set high in a wall and covered with thick plaid curtains that match the bedspread.

Kurt begins picking up the clothes from the chair and throwing them in a duffle bag. "I'll get this stuff out of your way," he says.

"Wait," she says, confused. "Is this your room? Where are you going to sleep?"

"It's the guest room," he explains with his usual gruff patience. "You're a guest. I'll sleep on the couch."

"The couch in the living room?" Diane asks dubiously.  It had looked at least a foot shorter than Kurt's six-foot frame, narrow and uncomfortable.

"It's one night, Diane. It's fine."

"Exactly," she says. "It's one night. Stay in here with me, Kurt. It's fine. We're not teenagers; we can exercise some self-control. And what's going to happen with your sister and nephew within earshot anyway?"

He looks at her doubtfully for a long moment, his frown only deepening as he lets his eyes wander from hers to travel slowly down her body. "Yeah, I think I'll take the couch."

She throws back her head and laughs. "Are you afraid of me?"

"Yep."

"Word of honor," she says in a teasing tone, approaching him but stopping just short of contact. "I won't touch you."

He shakes his head with a bemused and slightly uncomfortable smile. "Yeah, I'm not sure that's gonna make it a whole lot easier."

He was being silly, but there was some truth in it, of course. The thought of him in bed next to her, close enough to hear him breathing, to smell him, to feel his warmth beside her, close enough to touch... and then to expect herself not to? She feels a little dizzy at just the thought of it.

"Believe me," she practically purrs, leaning in still closer. "When we're together, Kurt, it's going to be someplace I don't have to worry about my volume."

"Diane..." he groans, and with a smirk she turns on her heel and walks out of the room, leaving him speechless.

She wanders back down the hall slowly, casting a backward glance to see that he is following, shaking his head and making an exaggerated display of his agony. She laughs softly, holding out her hand to him as they walk downstairs.

"So, what can I do to help?" she asks then, changing the subject.

"Well..." Kurt surveys the room and considers. "Not sure there is much to do. No telling when Debbie will be up and about, and I guess I'll leave her be for now. But I'm getting hungry. You?"

"Starved," she agrees, not realizing it until he asked.

"Let's see what we got," he says, leading the way into the kitchen. "Not a lot, I imagine -- couple of bachelors here alone, didn't plan for any ladies and now suddenly we've got two..."

He rummages around the fridge while she perches on a stool on the opposite side of the counter, content just to watch him move. If she doesn't have her way with him soon, she thinks, soon she's going to find herself turned on by the sound of his sneeze.

"Chicken salad?" he emerges, holding up a plastic container.

"Sounds good." As he pulls out the bread and lettuce and sets about making them sandwiches, she leans forward, asking him gently, "So what's going to happen next, for Debbie?"

He sighs heavily and shrugs. "If it's anything like the last time, or the time before that, or the time before  _ that _ , she'll come down and scream at me that she knows what's best for her and I should just leave her to rot like I always do."

"Oh, Kurt."

He shakes his head, dismissing it as nothing. "She doesn't know what she's saying when she's drinking, and she doesn't know what she's saying when she's sober and mad about it. Once in a great while now, we see the real Debbie."

"She's been through a lot, I know," she says, and inwardly cringes at how vacuous and unhelpful a comment it is.

"Iced tea?" He asks, keeping his hands busy, glancing up just long enough to catch her nod. "Yeah, well. We all have our ways of coping, I guess."

"And we all have our habits, good or bad," she smiles lightly, thinking of how many tries it took them to recognize and even start the work of breaking theirs. "Maybe she just needs to be in the right place to really take that on."

He hands her a plate and a glass of tea, and catches her meaning when their eyes meet. He manages a weak smile in return. "Yeah, maybe. Anyway -- it's a beautiful day. Patio?"

"That sounds nice," she agrees, and follows him out the back door.

The seating options are a small settee opposite two chairs, separated by a table. She wonders if it's intentional or just a habit of his own that he moves toward the settee without hesitation, leaving it to her to decide if they should sit together, or a safe distance apart. Intentional or not, she is not about to back down from any such challenge, and takes the seat beside him, crossing her legs and balancing her plate on her lap.

Their thighs and shoulders graze each other's, and at this point it's just comical, the immediate and powerful electric current generated every time they touch. She laughs, shaking her head, focusing her attention on her sandwich.

"What?" he asks, looking over at her, bemused.

"This is ridiculous," she says, as if 'this' scarcely needs to be defined.

"You're telling me? You're the one who won't stop flashing her legs at me," he responds in mock-accusation.

She kicks him lightly in retaliation, allowing her foot to come to rest there against his calf.

"Is it hard for you to be back here?" she asks quietly, turning the subject back to more serious matters again, but pressing her shoulder against his in support.

He considers for a long moment, looking out over the long-neglected yard, likely seeing it the way it was when he was a child, green and thriving. "Yeah. It is."

She gives him time when he doesn't elaborate immediately, taking a long sip of her tea.

"To be here, to see her like this. To know that I got out of here and she never did, lost everything she did have, almost. It's always hard to come back, but it's worse to leave."

"You're not responsible, Kurt. You know that, right?" she says gently.

"Yeah. I know." He goes silent for a long time again, then continues. "Poor Joey, he's worse off than me. You think I take on other people's burdens? That kid..." He shakes his head, full of sorrow and regret for the way the young man's life is unfolding. "He'll stay here forever."

She sets down her plate on the table and adjusts her position on the settee, sliding her arm around Kurt's shoulders. He immediately relaxes into her embrace; she can feel the tension drain from his muscles as he allows himself to lean on her, his forehead falling against hers. There is nothing she can say to make this easier on him, and sometimes words and understanding fail altogether. Then it is fortunate they have this unspoken and profound physical connection, as powerful to soothe as to excite.

_"Kurt...?"_

They hear the voice call from inside the house, and reluctantly Diane disentangles herself from him, sitting straight against the cushion again, but she lets her arm coil around his, squeezing his hand in support.

"Out here, Deb," he calls out, clearly steeling himself for some kind of scene.


	12. Chapter 12

Debbie emerges from the house, cigarette and lighter in hand, but stops short when she catches sight of them sitting there, side by side.

"Never thought I'd see the day," she finally says, then lights the cigarette and takes a long drag. "Look at who's sipping tea on my back porch." She exhales a billowy cloud of smoke over her shoulder. There is little family resemblance between the siblings. Debbie is petite and rail-thin, her hair worn in a shaggy blonde pixie cut. If Diane didn't know Kurt was the elder of the two by several years, she would have assumed Debbie was the firstborn; her lifestyle has taken its toll. "Thought we'd seen the last of you, Lady Di."

Diane blinks at the nickname. Is it new, or has the other woman always called her that, just not to her face before now? Apparently whatever thin veneer of civility Debbie had tried to maintain for her brother's sake during their marriage has now completely evaporated. That's fine. Diane can't say she wouldn't feel the same in Debbie's position, and she prefers to know what she's dealing with in any case.

"Debbie," Kurt warns, squeezing Diane's hand lightly, both a gesture of reassurance and a request for patience.

"What's she doing here, Kurt?" Debbie paces from one end of the patio to the other, her movements quick and economical as she draws on her cigarette.

"My truck broke down while I was in Chicago," Kurt explains cautiously. "Diane was kind enough to drive me back down when Joey called to tell me you were home."

"To tell you I got kicked out of rehab, you mean," Debbie stops pacing in front of Diane. "He tell you that, Lady Di?"

"He told me you've been having a difficult time lately, yes," she confirms, carefully avoiding any offers of sympathy she knows won't be well-received.

Debbie grunts, and starts pacing again, the arm not holding her cigarette now swinging back and forth in agitation.

"Wait," she says, coming to a stop in front of them again on her next pass. "Fucking Christ," she directs at Kurt. " _ She's _ the lady friend you were going to visit in Chicago?"

She then rounds on Diane. "Why don't you just leave him the hell alone?" she hisses. "If he's not good enough to fit into your world?  _ Leave him the hell alone. _ Do you know what it did to him when you left him? Do you?" Debbie is almost shouting at her now. "Kurt is the best man I know. I probably wouldn't even be alive if it wasn't for him doing his damnedest to keep me in one piece, sending me money to keep the lights on and food on the table. Now maybe that doesn't mean much to you, but it sure as hell does to me and my kid. And he's not good enough for you? Lady, you're not good enough to kiss his feet!"

"Debbie, that's enough!" Kurt lets go of her hand and stands up, moving directly in front of his sister. "You know damned good and well that what happened with Diane was my fault, not hers. I won't stand here and let you talk to her like that!"

Diane just stares at the two of them, not quite comprehending where any of this is coming from. Not good enough for her?  _ What? _ She knows Debbie has never taken to her, but she assumed it was just a protective little sister thing, combined with Debbie's own emotional problems, rather than anything personal. But this sounds like there was significantly more to it.

"You only did what you did because she drove you to it!" Debbie insists, waving her cigarette like a sword. "You know damned well if she had ever let you be a part of her life, you would never have even looked at another woman!"

Oh. Diane is beginning to understand.

She rises, takes Kurt's arm and pulls on it gently. "Kurt. It's okay. She has a point."

Both Debbie and Kurt turn to her simultaneously, and very suddenly the family resemblance becomes obvious in the identical looks of incredulity on their faces.

"I do?" Debbie asks.

"Yes," she says shortly to Debbie, before turning to Kurt. "She's putting it more colourfully than I might, but Kurt, she's saying the same thing I've been saying for weeks now. There were serious problems in our marriage long before the affair. I never thought you weren't good enough for me," she says with a sidelong glance at Debbie, "but I can see how, from the outside looking in, it may have appeared that way."

She looks back to her former sister-in-law. "Debbie, rest assured, I love your brother with all my heart. I  _ know  _ what a good man he is, and maybe I  _ don't _ deserve him. But believe me when I say I will never take his love for granted again."

The two women's eyes meet and slowly hostility fades to, if not understanding, at least provisional acceptance.

"Fine," Debbie says, "I guess we'll see about that." She drops her cigarette butt into a rusted coffee can sitting in a corner of the patio. "I'm going to have a shower." After one last long look at Diane, she disappears back into the house.

"Well, that wasn't  _ so  _ bad," Diane comments as the both reclaim their seats on the settee. "At least she didn't scream at you this time."

Kurt snorts. "Yeah. Thanks for taking one for the team there, hon." He reaches over to bop her thigh gently with his closed fist, then leaves his hand resting there, closing his eyes and slouching back in his seat. "Don't worry, once you're not here anymore to distract her, she'll go back to thinking I'm the asshole who's trying to run her life."

She looks over at him and smiles. "She loves you."

He lets out a long-suffering sigh. "Yeah."

"We have that in common."

He turns his head and opens his eyes, then leans over and gently presses his lips to hers. Her stomach flips over, but she doesn't attempt to prolong the contact. "I love you too," he says, before closing his eyes resuming his previous position.

"Kurt," she asks after a moment, "what did she mean about what the divorce 'did to you'?" That angry sentence of Debbie's has lodged in her mind, reminding her that the one thing they still haven't talked about is the immediate aftermath of their failed reconciliation attempt and subsequent divorce. It had been a terrible time for her, one she doesn't particularly want to relive, but she hasn't really given much thought to how he coped during that period.

He shakes his head, eyes still shut. "Nothing. It was no big deal."

The words are so patently false that she almost laughs. "It was no big deal?" she repeats, poking him to make him look at her.

He sighs. "You know what I mean. Of course it was a big deal. But it's over; it doesn't matter now."

Diane just waits, knowing he isn't really refusing to talk about it; he's just organising his thoughts.

"It was a difficult time," he says eventually. "After I got the papers, I was just at a loss, I guess. You were gone. My business was gone, I wasn't teaching. Deb convinced me to come down here for a while. I think she appreciated the chance to look after me for a spell, instead of the other way around. That's it."

That's not it, Diane knows. He's glossing things over to spare her feelings. But she'll leave it alone for now.

"Okay," she says simply, setting down her iced tea on the table. "I've been sitting too long. Do you want to go for a walk?"

"Good idea," he says, taking a long stretch before he stands, which she can't help but appreciate. "You've never seen much of the town, have you?"

"No, and I'd like to."

She rises too, following him as he leads the way back to the street. She feels slightly guilty; until today, she had in fact seen  _ nothing  _ of the town but the main road leading from the highway to his neighborhood, and on the couple occasions she had visited at all she had to leave early the next day, always having some big case to hurry back to. There  _ was _ some truth in what Debbie said; she can hardly begrudge her a word of it. She wishes she had taken the time to get to know where he came from, to know his family, hell, even to know who  _ he _ was before her. That thought hits her hard, harder than anything Debbie could accuse her of.

"You okay?" he asks lightly, casting a sideways glance at her as they walk along.

"Fine," she says quickly, probably too quickly to be entirely believed.

"Hm," he makes a doubtful little grunt, but lets it pass, waving at a neighbor across the street and calling out a greeting.

"It's a lovely little neighborhood," she says, taking stock of the tiny but well-manicured lawns, children running through sprinklers or playing catch in many of them. Such a different experience from the urban environment she grew up in. "I can just picture little you, teaching the younger kids to play ball."

He looks surprised. "Did I ever tell you that? Yeah, I was into baseball in high school. Threw an okay fastball."

"I don't think you did," she says, a twinge of guilt rising again that she had never asked what he liked, or requested to see a photo album. But that pang is dwarfed by her growing feelings of affection for a younger version of him she can so clearly imagine now. "I guess you just look the type."

He chuckles. "I was good enough for a small scholarship to MU my freshman year. But I got injured, grew out of it. Figured out I always liked guns more."

"Well, you could have taught me how to hit a baseball, but I think I like guns more, too," she laughs, teasingly allowing her shoulder to collide with his as they walk along.

They round the corner to a brick-paved street, revealing a couple blocks of little shops and restaurants, a bank, a post office. "This is downtown, or what passes for one," he shrugs.

"It's adorable. Oh -- I didn't mean that in a patronizing way."

"No, no," he laughs. "But you see why I never really warmed up to Chicago."

She nods and lapses into silence as they walk along, another moment of clarity. They were so different in so many ways, but he had always been so much more willing to compromise to be with her. He lived with her long hours, he endured her work parties and tiresome friends, had been willing to move to a city he hated... Well,  _ that  _ came after the affair, and who knows whether he was driven more by desperation or by love then. She remembers this with a lurch of the stomach that comes more rarely now, if it isn't quite gone for good. Regardless, whatever her failings, and whatever his, they were in the past.

She reaches over and slides her hand into his.  _ This _ was now.

He squeezes her hand back, but then is quickly distracted. "Oh, hey, this is where we always hung out after school." He inclines his head at an ice cream shop that doesn't look as if it has changed since those days. "Can I tempt you?"

"Almost always," she laughs, reaching for the door.

He follows her in, pointing at a table toward the back. "That's where we always sat -- everybody knew it was ours."

The table happened to be occupied by a young couple now. Diane smiles over at him. "And did you bring girls here, too?"

"Nah. Girls were icky then." They laugh and he lets his arm fall lightly around her waist as they turn toward the menu board. "What'll you have?"

"Hmmm..." There are too many choices, and she's honestly more interested in the thought of young Kurt spending all his pocket money and laughing with his friends here every day after school than she is in the ice cream itself. "Surprise me. Your favorite."

"Okay," he grins, then points to a door at the far end of the room. "There are tables out back, too, if you want to find a place to sit."

She nods and makes her way to the back patio, pleased to find it mostly empty. It was getting to be an unusually hot day, and most people seemed to prefer hiding in the air conditioning. Diane spent long days indoors and so rarely had the chance to appreciate small-town life and clean air -- today, at least, she intended to soak up every bit of it. She selects a table in full sun and leans back as far as she can in the wobbly metal chair, closing her eyes and luxuriating in the feel of the hot sun on her skin.

He can't resist the urge to let out a low wolf whistle as he joins her, making her laugh as she sits up straight again. He places an absurdly large sundae dish in front of her. "My favorite."

"Kurt," she laughs, testing it warily with her spoon, turning over a cascade of nuts and sprinkles and whipped cream long before she uncovers any ice cream, and -- was that fudge sauce AND caramel? "This is enough for five people!"

"I don't know what you're talking about, my buddies and I could put one of these away in three minutes flat."

"I don't doubt it." She takes a cautious bite. "Well, it's good."

"See?"

After about three bites she feels sick and pushes the thing away, shaking her head. She can certainly see the appeal to a teenage boy, anyway. Kurt makes a stronger showing, but even he can't eat half of it now.

"Don't tell my doctor," he jokes, pushing his away too.

"What fun is life if you can't cheat a little?" She laughs -- and then realizes -- and then waves it away dismissively. They can't police their words forever. "Bad joke. Sorry."

He takes it in stride, seeing from her reaction that it was neither meant unkindly, nor had the reminder upset her. But something has been bothering her on and off all afternoon, and he knows it. He reaches over and takes her hand across the table. "You seemed a little preoccupied while we were walking over here. Something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong," she smiles back at him reassuringly. "I just can't help thinking about some of the things Debbie said..."

"Please don't let her get to you. She lashes out. It doesn't mean anything."

"It does, though," Diane insists, leaning forward. If he's going to ask, he can't dismiss it as nothing. "I never really made a place for you in my life, Kurt. Or made a place for myself in yours. It's been so nice being here with you today, but I can't believe in all the time we were together I never did before."

He looks at her for a long moment, then says simply, "We're here now, Diane."

"I know. And thank god for that," she smiles, squeezing his hand. "I just... Did I make you feel that way? Like Debbie said -- like you weren't good enough for me? Like I didn't want you to be part of my world?"

"No," he shakes his head. "Diane, you weren't embarrassed of me, you didn't hide me away. Did I want more of you? Yeah. But it was never like that."

She nods slowly, thinking back on things. It made sense. And she sees how things are different now -- and how they aren't. "I want to give you more of me now; I want to take more of you. I want us to have a real life --  _ together. _ But my work is still so important to me, my life is in Chicago... the last thing I want to do is to start out asking you to give more again."

"Diane, I don't want to change you," he says, moving closer and reaching out to take her other hand, too, his eyes serious and full of love. "Your passion for what you do and what you believe in -- that's  _ why _ I fell in love with you."

She blinks away the tears that suddenly prick at her eyes, but they're happy tears this time, moved by his words. "We're going to do this so much better, this time."

He grins back at her. "This time, eh?"

She pulls back one of her hands long enough to slap him playfully. If it wasn't clear by now she had no more reservations about making this work...

He laughs, catching her hand again and bringing it to his lips, as if to seal their understanding.

"There's a couple more things I want to show you, if you're up for it, then maybe we should swing by the grocery store for something for dinner and head back."

"Sounds like a plan," she agrees, and follows him out.


	13. Chapter 13

He turns down another street, pointing out his best friend's house, the troublemaker of the gang, the one who slipped him his first cigarette and his first beer that summer before high school, when they thought they ruled the world. They pass by a graveyard where the boys and girls, having their own separate slumber parties, would meet up around midnight and try to out-scare one another.

"Did you really terrorize those innocent young girls that way?" Diane asks, hiding a smile with feigning indignation.

"Oh, no, I took a different approach. I waited until the other boys did, then I came along to comfort them."

"Smooth!" she laughs, elbowing him.

And then they pass by the high school, past the parking lot where, he tells her, he once got into a fistfight after dinging an older kid's bumper soon after getting his driver's license; past the baseball diamond, where he once pitched a no-hitter ("against the worst team in the county, but still"); to the football stadium, where all the kids flocked for a good time every Friday night, usually (or as Diane recalled it, from her own high school days) to do anything but actually watch the game. He walks up to the chain link fence, surprised to find it unlocked.

"Small towns," he shrugs, pulling open the gate. "Think they're safe from hooligans like us."

She giggles, feeling a bit like a teenager again herself.

They walk along the track beside the field and past the concession stand where he describes the monstrous french fry concoctions smothered in melted cheese he and his friends used to feast on. He then leads her behind the little shed and under the bleachers.

"Now this is where you'd go to get away from your parents or your friends or whoever you came with," he says, leading her single-file along a narrow path between the beams.

"Didn't people drop trash on your heads?" she laughs.

"Well, yeah, you ran that risk," he admits wryly, then kicks a pop bottle out of their way. "Come to think of it, I'm not really sure I see the appeal now."

"Kids," she shakes her head, again imagining a younger, even lankier version of him navigating this path over forty years ago.

"Ah... right about here," he says, stopping in place and turning to face her.

"Here?" She looks around, mystified. "What's here?"

"Here," he says, dropping his voice low and moving closer, "is where I kissed my first girl."

"Oh," she sighs, smiling, fitting her arms around him.

He follows suit, pulling her still closer. "Thought it would be a fitting place to kiss my last girl. My best girl."

"I bet you used that line on her, too."

"No, I didn't have any good lines like that then."

"And it's pretty cheesy now," she laughs, inclining her face toward his, pausing just before their lips touch to add, "But effective."

He kisses her quickly, once, twice, each individual touch of their lips getting progressively longer, blending together until at last he fully commits, his lips parting hers as their bodies seem to melt together. His hands slide down her back to her ass, pulling her even more tightly to him.

She groans and pushes back automatically, her arms tightening around his neck. Her heart is pounding so hard, she’s amazed he can’t feel it against his chest. This may not really be a first kiss, but right now it feels like one. Better than one, because now she knows the heart of the man behind it, knows where this will lead, physically, emotionally. This is love. This is forever.

She moves one hand away from the back of his head to slide down to his cheek, stroking her thumb lightly over his bearded cheek as she slows the kiss, ending with a couple of light pecks before pulling back just far enough so she can see him. The sun shining through the gaps in the bleachers leaves his face painted with light and shadow as he smiles at her. She grins back, trying to remember when she was last this happy.

"So," he asks, slightly breathless, “do you think you would have even looked twice at a farmboy like me in high school?

She laughs, breathing a bit heavily herself. "Kurt, you're almost five years younger than I am. If I looked at you in high school, I might have been arrested." But then she pauses, flitting her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck as she ponders. "Now, when you were playing college ball, and I was in law school,” she speculates, “if I somehow ended up at one of your games, it could have been a different story. I may not have been able to take my eyes off you."

His hands are still sliding firmly up and down her back and over her ass. "Did you _go_ to ballgames when you were in law school?" he asks, leaning down to kiss the side of her neck.

She tilts her head to the side, her entire body tingling when his teeth scrape lightly against her earlobe. "Well, no," she manages to admit. "I was too busy studying. Did you ever go to the library?" Now that was a captivating image, the serious young woman she had been, fixating upon a young man with strong arms and longish hair curling over his collar, diligently studying in the next carrel with long legs sprawled out in front of him. Getting up and taking his hand, leading him into the stacks without ever saying a word. That’s a  fantasy she’ll save for later when it can be properly explored.

He snorts. "Did I ever go to the library? I'll have you know I did very well in college," he says, faux-insulted. "I'm not just a dumb jock, you know. There's more to me than meets the eye, Ms Lockhart."

"Oh, I certainly know _that_." She wiggles her hips a little and is rewarded by his sharp intake of breath and his arms tightening around her.

“Fuck, Diane,” he says in her ear. “You’re killing me here.”

She turns her head, so now her lips are pressed to side of his neck, and she kisses her way up to his ear. “Soon,” she promises.

***

Joey's motorcycle is in the driveway again when they finally arrive back to the house. Kurt is carrying the pizza they picked up along the way, and Diane has a bag with a large salad and some breadsticks. They enter the house through the front door to find mother and son sitting opposite each other at the kitchen table, a cribbage board set up between them and mugs of coffee at each of their elbows.

"Thought you two got lost," Debbie says, laying down a card on the table in front of her. "Thirty-one for two," she says to Joey, moving her little plastic peg into the last hole on the wooden board.

Joey groans and hangs his head, dropping his remaining cards to the table.

"We just went for a walk," Kurt says. "Diane's never seen the town, so I showed her around. Took her to Red's for some ice cream, then we went over to the high school to make out under the bleachers." He sets the pizza on the breakfast bar, then goes over to the cupboard for plates.

"Kurt!" Diane exclaims, aghast, her face turning red. If he’d been within arm’s reach, she would have smacked him. Debbie snorts as she shuffles the cards.

He laughs as he sets the plates down, then puts an arm around her waist and pulls her to his side. "They were supposed to think I was joking. Your poker face is usually better than that." He kisses her cheek and releases her, then opens the pizza box, detaches a slice and puts it on a plate in front of Debbie. "Eat," he instructs. She ignores him and continues shuffling.

Joey claims several slices then retakes his seat as Kurt plates a couple of more for himself and Diane, then adds large helpings of salad.

"You play crib, Lady Di?" Debbie asks, picking a slice of pepperoni off her pizza and examining it before dropping it back on the plate.

Kurt opens his mouth to object to the nickname, but Diane stops him with a hand on his forearm and a quick shake of her head. She needs to hold her own here, if there is ever going to be any kind of peace between them. "Not since college," she admits. "But I'm sure it'll come back to me if I watch for a while."

"All right," the other woman says. "You're up then, big brother. Move, Joey."

Joey moves one seat over and Kurt takes the chair opposite Debbie. Diane sits down beside him, opposite Joey.

As it turns out, Diane is right, and the rules of the game do come back to her after watching Debbie and Kurt’s first game, though not quite quickly enough for her to win against any of the three seasoned pros. "Next time," she vows, when Kurt skunks her during their final game. "I'm going to buy one of these boards and make Laura play with me, and then next time I’m here, I'm going to beat all of you."

“You keep telling yourself that,” Debbie says, not unkindly. “I’m going for a smoke,” she announces, standing up from the table and snagging her cigarettes from the counter on her way past.

“Wait for me,” Joey says, following his mother out the sliding patio doors.

Kurt watches them leave, then turns back to Diane. “You look like you’re having fun,” he comments.

“I am,” she replies, happy to find it’s true. Debbie hasn’t been overly inclusive of her, but she hasn’t been hostile either, and it is such a joy to watch the three family members interact. In this house where so much tragedy has occurred, the love is a tangible thing.

“What time do you want to leave in the morning?” Diane asks, glancing at her watch. It’s just past ten.

Kurt shrugs. “Whenever you want. I just have to call the mechanic before we go. Hopefully they’ll have her fixed up by the time we get there.”

“I cancelled all my meetings, so I’m all yours for the day,” she says, intentionally lowering her voice and tipping her head slightly as she watches for his reaction.

His eyes darken noticeably.


	14. Chapter 14

When Debbie returns, she asks to talk to Kurt alone. Kurt seems prepared to make one of his ' _anything you need to say to me you can say in front of her_ ' displays, but Diane quietly stops him. After all Debbie has been through, she can well imagine there are things she has to say that require no audience. And if Diane hadn't been so caught up in her own feelings, so hungry to spend time with him after their long separation, she might have thought to ensure he had a chance to be alone with his sister sooner. She excuses herself, saying goodnight to Joey and Debbie. Debbie raises her eyebrows just slightly, a silent commentary on her lack of a goodnight to Kurt.

_Lady Di gets her way again_ , Diane thinks to herself with a smirk as she heads upstairs.

That is what it looks like, but that is not at all what it is going to be tonight. Deflated and frustrated, she tries to put aside the fantasies that have leapt readily to mind all day, the shiver of anticipation that runs through her every time she recalls his hands on her. As she changes into her bedclothes -- thankfully she had chosen something relatively modest, though she doubts it will cool either of them down much -- she considers how she might make this uncomfortable arrangement a bit easier to bear.

She could change her mind and send him to the couch -- he wouldn't mind; he might even be relieved. But she doesn't want to admit to herself that she is so overpowered by desire she can't even be near him. Of _course_ they can be adults about this. And, if she's honest, some small shameful part of her couldn't stand to give Debbie the satisfaction -- or the ammunition. She could simply pretend to be asleep when he arrives, just lie there and let the hours pass until this agony ends. But she isn't one to simply avoid a tough situation, either. And stronger than the appeal of any way out she can think of, is her simple desire just to see him again.

She laughs lightly to herself, shaking her head as she turns down the bed. How is it possible that this feels like the hardest challenge they've had to face of all?

The sheets smell of him, and she already knows she's in trouble. _God._.. she closes her eyes, breathing in deeply and allowing herself to remember. It had been so long. After that awful day in court, after she told him to leave and not come back, the smell of him lingered in her bed for what seemed like weeks, tormenting her in a different way -- and worst of all, tormenting her in just the same way. Through the worst of it, she had always missed him, had always wanted him. She hated to admit to herself just how much she had grieved when that smell was gone for good.

But now it is as if no time has passed at all -- and like everything else, this comes back as naturally as if it were yesterday, but with the benefit of everything they've learned in their time apart. Part of her aches for the time they lost. Part of her feels almost lucky.

"Hey."

He enters quietly, but it startles her out of her reverie. She is nervous and jumpy and on edge in more ways than one. Trying to play it off, she sits up straight and faces him.

"Hey.

Everything all right?"

"Yeah. Yeah -- good, actually. Last night was a wake up call for Deb. She wants to find another program -- I think she really wants to try this time."

"Oh, Kurt, I'm so glad," she says, delighted to see the relief evident on his face, after all the hopelessness he had expressed.

"Long road ahead, but..." He lets out a long sigh. "Maybe things can be good for a little while."

"That would be nice," she says, smiling back at him gently, the edges of her mouth quirking when she realizes how awkward he looks, just standing there by the door. "Kurt."

He knows just what she means and laughs sheepishly, looking down, and for a moment she can again picture so clearly a teenage Kurt in front of her, caught doing something he shouldn't and thinking he can get out of it on charm alone. But he comes over and sits on the edge of the bed, looking over at her with a serious, steady gaze, and he is every bit the man she knows, and loves. That damned shiver comes over her again.

"She doesn’t quite know what to make of you being here," he chuckles.

"Oh?" Diane can well imagine anything she might have to say about her or her place in her brother's life must have come thoroughly drenched in acid.

"' _Well she had better make you happy,'_ " he quotes, doing a fairly good impression.

"Are you?” she asks, though she suspects she knows the answer. “Happy?"

"You have no idea."

She reaches over and lays her hand over his. "I have some idea."

Almost as soon as she has, she realizes her mistake -- even such a simple, innocent touch sets her mind reeling to the thought of more, and she can see he is similarly affected.

She withdraws her hand slowly with a sigh. "Let's... let's just go to bed, all right?"

He looks doubtful, and makes no immediate moves toward that end. After a moment, she realizes where he is stuck. And it's absurd: he has undressed in front of her countless times, he had been married to her, he may be naked before her again in perhaps fifteen hours' time, not that she's counting. _Don't think about that. Don't think about that._

It's absurd, but she entirely understands.

Taking pity on him, she scoots back on the bed and turns out the bedside table light. She lies down on her side, allowing him to move to the other end of the room and undress out of view. She tries to resist the urge to steal a glance, but the blind knowledge of what's happening a few feet away is almost worse.

With a sigh of resignation, he returns to the bed and quickly slips under the sheet, the weight of him forcing her to adjust her position in a way that is familiar and comforting. They face one another, and instantly both laugh nervously.

"This is ridiculous," she whispers.

"This is _hell,_ " he amends.

"We both thought waiting would be good for us." She rolls her eyes at the thought now.

"Yeah, but I don't think we really had this in mind."

"No," she agrees, giggling and moving just a little closer, in spite of herself. Her knee touches his, and she jerks it away instinctively. Tentatively, she moves it back, her bare skin sliding against his.

He lets out a pained sigh. "What if we just..."

"What?" she breathes, closing her eyes and letting her face drift closer.

"Fool around a little." He reaches out, his fingertips just grazing her arm and moving slowly down it, leaving her skin tingling in their wake.

"I don't think that's very wise," she says, but she wiggles closer still, until her forehead comes to rest against his, her hand flat upon his chest, and if it's a gesture of keeping him at bay, it's less than half-hearted.

"No. Better not," he agrees, and closes the last little distance between them, his lips brushing softly against hers. It is a slow, sweet kiss, testing and daring one another to break and give in first, escalating but maddening in its gentle pace. Her hand clenches his undershirt in a fist as his, continuing its downward path, finds its way to her hip and pulls her hard and sudden against him. She lets out a little cry, stifled in his mouth.

They stop, practically panting, processing what has happened, both releasing their grip on one another but reluctant to pull away. This connection between them isn't something they can just shut off -- they know this now more than ever.

He moves his hand up to run through her hair soothingly, trying with little hope of success to bring her back down. She sighs, turning toward his hand and pressing a kiss against his palm.

"Like we could ever just fool around," she mutters, pulling away miserably and rolling onto her back.

He laughs, propping himself up on his elbow, unable to resist running his fingers lightly along her side. "Some things never change."

She looks back up at him, her eyes full of love and undisguised desire, finding the same reflected back at her. She reaches up and strokes his face gently, then says, with an air of finality, "Good night."

She rolls over to face the wall before she can be tempted again, smiling as he offers a bemused "Good night" in return. Just one night. Surely they can take it, for just one night.

She lies awake, memorizing every detail of the wallpaper pattern, staring long enough to lose all sense of how long it has been. The mere awareness of his presence, warm and wanting her, just a foot away, promises to keep her up all night. She is alert to the faint sound of his breathing, not heavy enough for sleep, and she knows he is as wide awake as she is, feeling all the same things. Visceral memories of his taste and his touch flash through her mind, not helping her to find any peace, his wandering gentle fingers and the needy thrust of his hips, the sudden realization that he was already hard...

And now she is awake, and he is awake, and the knowledge that he is just behind her, watching her, studying every line and curve of her body just as intently as she is studying this damned wallpaper is almost enough to drive her insane.

Wordlessly, she reaches behind her for his hand, squeezing it in her own. She nestles back against him, pulling his arm around her, placing his hand flat across her stomach and interlacing her fingers with his. He sighs into her hair, then kisses the nape of her neck as he molds himself to her body, his knees fitting behind hers, his stomach resting against the curve of her back. Settled in his arms, she breathes easily at last.


	15. Chapter 15

If, when she first stirs the following morning, Diane’s not-quite awake mind is slow to recall and understand her current circumstances, her body suffers from no such limitations. She is already thrumming with need by the time she puts together the strange texture of the sheets, the pillow that isn’t quite the right height, and the arm around her waist that ends with a hand under her pyjama top just barely grazing the bottom of her breast.

He’s still asleep; she can tell by the depth and evenness of his breathing, but his body is awake as well, as evidenced by the hard hot length of him pressed tightly against her ass.

The room is uncomfortably warm. She can scarcely breathe from the combination of the sun shining on her through the gap in the curtains and the sticky heat between their bodies. They’re both fully clothed, but the thin layers of cloth provide little in the way of insulation from the heat of his skin on hers. She should just get up, remove herself from the situation, escape the temptation before her body’s needs completely overrule reason.

Yes, that’s what she’ll do. The implicit promise that this torture will finally end when they get back to Chicago today means she only has to be strong for a short time longer. She can do it. Taking a deep breath, she moves her arm, preparing to throw off the stifling sheets and get out of bed.

His arm reflexively tightens around her, preventing her escape. The hand under her top slides higher, brushing against her already stiff nipple and his hips press forward, grinding against her ass. Still asleep, he moans low in his throat. Whatever dream is slowly loosening its hold on him seems to be a good one.

“Kurt,” she whispers urgently, half trying to wake him, half hoping to encourage him further. He shifts behind her and again her body pulses in response, and that’s it; she’s reached the limit of her willpower. It’s either wake him up, or turn in his arms, slide a leg over his hip and welcome him home.

“Kurt,” she repeats in a louder whisper.

This time she gets a sleepy, “hmm,” in response, followed quickly by a curse and the sudden withdrawal of his hand from under her shirt and the loss of his body behind her as he falls onto his back. “Sorry,” he mutters.

Rolling to her other side, she finds him rubbing the corners of his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, mouth wide in a yawn. “Don’t apologize,” she tells him. “I’ve missed waking up like that.” And like this, now, watching him awaken with his sleep-tousled hair and drowsy, sexy smile.

He completes his yawn and turns his head to her. “Yeah. Me too. Maybe a little too much,” he says with a smirk, gesturing vaguely lower.

“Oh, but that’s the best part,” she says, almost purring as she edges closer, her hand sliding across his chest, then up to his cheek as she presses her lips to his. He responds instantly, one arm pushing between her and the mattress to wrap around her waist, the other crossing over top of them, working in conjunction with the first to pull her to him.

She goes willingly, her knee bending and rising to rub against his erection, all thoughts of waiting instantly gone. His hand slides back under her shirt, with full intent this time, finding her breast and thumbing her aching nipple.

_ Bang!  _ The sudden noise from the next room startles them into motionlessness as they both look to the wall opposite the bed.

“Joey, what the hell are you doing up there?” Debbie’s raspy smoker’s voice climbs the stairs from the lower level. 

“Sorry,” Joey hollers back from the room next to them. “Dropped a dumbbell.”

Diane flops to her back with a frustrated sigh. Kurt just laughs. “Well. I guess I’ll go have a shower,” he says, far more cheerfully than she could have managed at the moment. 

 

***

 

Kurt is on the phone when Diane goes downstairs following her turn in the shower. Cup of coffee in one hand, phone in the other, he paces around the small living room as he talks.

“Yeah,” he says. “That’s what I figured. Can you fix it today?” 

The mechanic who has his truck must have agreed, because Kurt seems pleased. “Great. Yeah, I’m out of town right now, but if I can pick it up before you close this afternoon, that would work for me.”

Noticing Diane standing at the foot of the stairs, he winks at her. She winks back, then follows the smell of coffee into the kitchen. No one is there, but she finds a nearly full pot sitting on the warmer, so she looks through the cupboards until she finds a mug and helps herself.

The first sip is almost as good as the sex she’s not having. Almost, she thinks with a smile, but not quite. Kurt’s skin had been freezing when he returned to their room following his shower, and she had followed suit with her own, making the water as cold as she could stand, but her body is still buzzing from craving his touch. The six hour drive is going to be sheer torture, but at least there is finally a light at the end of this long tunnel.

She walks over to the patio doors to find the glass already open. She slides the screen open and steps outside into a morning that’s already hot and muggy, and promising more of the same.

Debbie is sitting on the settee with a cigarette in hand, reading the newspaper she has spread out over the low table in front of her. A mug of coffee holds down one corner from blowing in the slight breeze.

“Good morning,” she says, walking downwind of the smoke and standing against the rails, looking out over the property. There’s a certain beauty in its tangled, neglected state when the morning sun shines over it.

“Morning,” Debbie says from behind her, paper rustling. “Sleep well?”

Diane turns in surprise at the polite question. “Yes, very well, thank you.”

Debbie is still intently reading the newspaper and not looking at her, so she takes a seat in one of the chairs and removes her phone from her pocket. She had contacted both her assistant and Laura yesterday to let them know she wouldn’t be in today, but she’s just remembered that Lucca will be cross-examining Holly this morning. Their confrontation with her in the restaurant had been less than two days ago, but it already seems so far away and unimportant.

She sends Lucca a quick ‘good luck’ text and laughs out loud at the immediate response.

_ Don’t need it, but she might. _

Debbie looks up questioningly, but she just shakes her head. “Nothing. Just work stuff.”

Debbie shrugs and picks up her coffee. “So,” she says. “I was thinking I might drive up with you guys today. Keep Kurt company on his way back.”

"Oh!" Diane can't suppress her reflexive outburst of surprise and dismay. Although she tries to recover quickly and adopt an air of casual interest, Debbie has already taken note of her initial reaction -- or perhaps, Diane thinks, she expected to see it.

Either way, her mouth twists into a small but smug smile. "You don't want me to come, do you?"

"No, no, of course you should come, if you want to," Diane says, affecting a graciousness that could not be further from her true feelings.

"Kurt and I can teach you the road games we used to play as kids," she says, but there's an edge to her voice that doesn't sound as kind as her words. "I'm sure it's not as fun as what you had planned, but..."

She trails off and turns her attention back to her newspaper, and Diane watches her in stunned silence. If her decision to come along for the ride was intended to thwart or annoy Diane, it was diabolical, and if it wasn't... well, it was still extraordinarily irritating. And almost hilarious, at this point -- was she ever going to get that man properly alone?

She could kick herself for walking away from him the other night when either her place or his hotel room were so close at hand.

"Hey," Kurt slides open the screen door and joins them, coming to stand behind Diane's chair. He rests his hands lightly on her shoulders, his thumbs gently stroking her skin.  _ Not helping_, she thinks, controlling her desire to lean her head back against him in feline contentment. "It's all set. They can have it ready for me by the time we get into town."

"Wonderful," Debbie says, gathering up the newspaper and her coffee. "Guess I'd better get in the shower so we can hit the road."

"Yeah," Kurt responds, and Diane can tell in one word that he's no happier about it than she is.

Paying this no mind, Debbie whacks him on the shoulder with the paper as she passes. "Get your stuff together, I'll be ready in 15 minutes."

Kurt sighs heavily and squeezes Diane's shoulders as if to say:  _ stay strong_. He moves around her chair and takes the seat Debbie has just vacated.

Diane slumps over in her chair, propping her head up on her fist. "Your sister truly despises me, doesn't she?"

Kurt laughs, shaking his head ruefully. "She won't admit it, but honestly, I think she's afraid of what she might do if she's here alone. Joe offered to stay, but he can't go in late to work two days in a row. And then she yelled at him, poor kid, saying she doesn't need a babysitter anyway. But that's exactly what she needs me to be, long as she can pretend it's about something else."

"Of course -- I totally understand," she says softly, feeling guilty she even joked about it. Naturally Debbie's wellness must come before her own base needs, but it's difficult to remember that from moment to moment. Her body has by now almost completely overpowered her mind.

"’Course, if she can make you miserable at the same time, that's just an added bonus."

Diane responds with an exaggerated groan. He laughs again, then pats the cushion next to him, jerking his head toward the empty seat. She stands and goes over to join him, ignoring the thought that passes through her mind of straddling his lap instead.

She drops her voice low and says, "While she's in the shower, let's just sneak into the back seat of my car and put an end to this once and for all."

"Or I could grab a blanket and we could head for the tall grass," he counters, inclining his head toward the overgrown yard.

"Sure. I'm not picky at this point," she says, not entirely sure if they are still joking.

"Or I could always..." He turns to face her, placing his hand on her knee, watching her reaction closely. At first it is incredulous, then questioning, then flustered as his fingers deftly slip under the hem of her skirt and move slowly but purposefully upwards.

"Kurt, don't..." she whispers. But she makes no move to stop him, nor does she want to.  

"I think what I'll do," he begins, his voice remaining astonishingly calm and even, as his fingers pause just at the edge of her panties, "is drive up every weekend to see you."

"So five days?" she asks, vaguely aware and not much caring about how whiny her voice sounds. Her brain sends a command to swat his hand away, but her body does not comply.

"Five days," he confirms, his fingers now lightly tracing the line where her skin ends and the garment begins.

She bites her lip, feeling like she can't quite see straight. She can't believe he is actually doing this, but she doesn't want him to stop for anything. If someone comes through the screen door, she reasons though she is beyond reason, they'll hear it before they can be seen. They'll have about a second and a half to compose themselves; probably, that is long enough. The part of her brain that evaluates risk doesn't seem to be taking any new requests just now.

He shushes her even before she's had a chance to react as one finger, then the rest, slowly curl under the thin material and inch toward their target. Somehow she manages to swallow the cry of surprise and anticipation that rises in her throat, but she squirms involuntarily, bucking her hips toward him. She is already throbbing, her body wracked with tension, and if he isn't just teasing her it won't take much for him to send her over the edge. Barely aware of anything but his maddeningly gentle and deliberate movements, she strains to keep her eyes focused on the door.

"In the meantime..." he continues taunting her, but his voice is growing hoarse, finally betraying his own building need. "We've always been good at phone sex."

She can't entirely stifle her reaction to that, his words and a sudden dart of his fingers sending a muddle of memories and sensations flooding over her and eliciting a breathy little moan. Her eyes droop closed in pleasure, but she forces them wide open again -- she must stay on guard.

"Jesus, Diane..." he whispers, as his fingers just graze her folds, already coated in her wetness.

She laughs shakily, pleased with his reaction, although he should hardly be surprised. It was easier for her to tell, naturally, but he must have known she had been as wound up as he was from the moment they woke up together. He slips one finger deeper, tracing the edges of her labia, outside, then in, withdrawing a little before venturing further, slowly driving her insane.

"Stop, stop," she hisses suddenly, hearing voices from inside the house, muffled but growing closer. Agonized, she shifts her hips away from him.

He has heard, too, and quickly withdraws his hand. He reaches over with the other to stroke her hair and shoulders in what she supposes is meant to be a soothing gesture, but which only makes her jump at the contact. He chuckles, casting her a mischievous glance. Judging he has a few moments more, he slips his finger into his mouth and sucks it clean, savoring the taste of her.

Before she can curse him for his lack of mercy, Joey and Debbie spill out of the house, and Diane can only hope her face doesn't give away the fact that her heart is pounding and her whole body is on fire.

"Joe's gonna take care of dinner tonight," Debbie announces. "I figure we can be back by, what, eight if we hurry?"

"Yeah," Kurt agrees tersely, apparently not trusting himself to say much more.

"Well, you two better get a move on!" She eyes one and then the other suspiciously. "Come on, let's hit the road!"


	16. Chapter 16

Diane stays quiet for the majority of the drive, pleasantly answering any comments directed at her, but mostly concentrating on her driving. Kurt, and even Debbie, eventually fall silent after an hour of Debbie’s baiting and Kurt’s patient attempts at redirection. None of it matters anyway. Nothing Kurt’s sister can say will spoil her happiness at the progress they have made over the last couple of days together. Putting aside the mostly self-imposed sexual frustration, they are in such a good place now. Their patience and long hours spent on the phone hashing out their issues seems to have paid off. As long as they can continue to talk and not fall into old habits after they’ve reintroduced the physical to their relationship, she thinks maybe they can really be okay.

Glancing across the car at Kurt, she finds him watching her too. From the smile he gives her when their eyes meet, she thinks he agrees.

Hours later, when she pulls into the parking lot of the repair shop, Debbie is out of the car and fumbling with her cigarettes before the car is even in park. “Thanks for the lift, Lady Di,” she says before firmly closing the door and walking off.

Turning the engine off, Diane collapses back against the seat in a fairly dramatic fashion and turns her head to Kurt. “Hello,” she says.

“Hey.” He turns in his seat and reaches out to smooth the hair back from her face. “I’m sorry this homecoming isn’t going to be quite what we hoped for.”

“It’s okay. I really do understand.” The six hour drive had done wonders to cool her ardour, though his fingertips now playing with the edge of her ear are beginning to bring it back. She reaches up and clasps his hand, bringing to her lips for a quick peck and then lacing her fingers through his and letting their hands down fall between them.

“When we get back home today, I’m going to get on the computer and try to find someplace that will take her,” he says. “Who knows, maybe it will be somewhere closer to here.”

She smiles at that. “That would be nice.”

He nods. “It would actually. Not only for us, but it would be good for Joey to have a little distance from this, I think.”

Glancing up, she locates Debbie pacing near where Kurt’s truck is parked, smoking furiously, her free arm swinging purposefully as she walks. She wonders what the other woman is thinking. Is she scared, or just angry at the world?

Looking back at Kurt, she slides her thumb across his knuckles. “I’m going to miss you. It’s funny, we’ve only spent a couple of days together, and it’s like I’ve already forgotten how to live without you.”

He bobs his head up and down, smiling. “Yeah. Me too. You won’t have to for long, I promise.” He extricates his hand from hers and returns it to her face, leaning across the car. She meets him halfway, her own hand rising to his face as well, sliding into his hair as their lips meet in a soft, sweet kiss. She would like nothing more than to deepen it, but conscious of their surroundings, she refrains, simply returning the quick gentle pecks and ending with one slightly longer, but still relatively chaste kiss.

“I love you,” she says when they separate.

“I love you too,” Kurt replies. “I’ll call you when we get back home.”

And with one last squeeze of her hand, he exits the car.

***

Her plans for the day having fallen apart, she decides after a quick stop at home to freshen up, that she may as well go into work after all. After greeting her surprised assistant with a ‘here I am’ shrug, she goes into her office and closes the door.

Resisting the impulse to start researching local rehabilitation facilities, she begins with her email, amazed as ever by how much can accumulate just in a three-day weekend.

A few minutes into her task, her phone beeps. She grabs it quickly, hoping for a text from Kurt, briefly stopped somewhere partway into his journey, but instead, it’s Lucca.

_Target destroyed_

She laughs out loud, shaking her head. She probably should be ashamed of how satisfying that idea is, but she’s not. It is, however, the last bit of headspace she will be giving Ms. Westfall. It feels like closure, finally.

The afternoon speeds by after that. She fits in a couple of staff performance reviews postponed from that morning – one good one, one less so, but nothing is dampening her mood today. Monica arrives back with news that an NPO they have been chasing for some time is finally ready to sign on. They make plans for celebratory drinks after work, and she issues text message invitations to Lucca and Laura to join them.

She’s just preparing to leave when her assistant buzzes in on the intercom. “Ms. Lockhart, I have an Eli Gold on the line for you.”

Her mouth dropping open in surprise, Diane hesitates halfway to the door. Her first impulse is to ask her assistant to lie and tell him she has already left for the day, but she quickly reconsiders. Anything Eli Gold has to say will at the very least be... interesting. And it must be very interesting indeed for him to think of calling her, after two years without any contact. Besides, she realizes, putting to rest any question of sneaking out without taking his call: knowing Eli, if it's even remotely _interesting_ he's likely to track her down at the bar within the hour anyway. "Put him through," she responds finally, taking her seat at her desk again.

"Eli Gold," she draws out his name in exaggerated disbelief. "You are the last person I expected to hear from."

"Well, probably not the _last_ ," he jokes, and she can't help but laugh, knowing exactly to whom he is referring.

"Touché. So, what do you need, Eli?"

"Can't an old friend just call an old friend to say hello?" he asks in mock offense.

"An old friend can. You, I'm not so sure," she retorts, but warmly.

"That hurts me, Diane. Well, as it happens I _am_ calling on business, but it's not about my needs; it's about you. Or at least about how we can mutually benefit."

Diane raises her eyebrows, dubious but willing to listen. "Oh?"

"You know I'm working for Stevenson now, right?"

Diane smirks. "I did know. Belated congratulations on your victory, by the way." Politically, she was aligned with and had fully supported Janet Stevenson in the previous year's gubernatorial election, and she had no reason to reproach herself as she cast her vote. But she can't deny that she took some personal pleasure, too, in seeing her take down Peter Florrick's former Lieutenant Governor in the Democratic primary by a landslide. Those days are far behind her now, and in the end, the Florrick’s took nothing from her that she couldn't rebuild -- she has her firm back, her life back, her love back, all perhaps better than ever -- but some small, mean part of her still gets a little thrill hearing of their setbacks and defeats.

"Thank you -- that was satisfying."

"I was a little surprised to learn you weren't backing Peter's man."

"He's a loser," Eli spits, characteristically blunt. "Peter was out. Alicia didn't want in. After a while, you want to get behind a winner again. Which brings me back to you."

Diane laughs heartily; she has known Eli too long to be taken in by his flattery. But he continues, unfazed.

"And Stevenson wants to surround herself with winners. I told her about you, and she wants me to stop at nothing to get you."

"To get me?" Diane asks, still amused.

"You know Franklin's term is up this fall."

Diane searches her mind for a moment before she remembers -- Judge Franklin? She voted for him herself in the primary election. "He was just retained for another term."

"He's pulling out -- health reasons, or whatever that's a euphemism for. We need a Democrat back in the race. Right now."

And now, _now_ Diane is flattered, or elated, or euphoric, or whatever it is that's causing the corners of her mouth to widen into a grin and her stomach to turn somersaults. Few things in life have this kind of involuntary control over her; in fact she can think of two: Kurt McVeigh, and the chance at a Supreme Court judgeship. But a moment later, she remembers how this all fell apart the last time. "Eli, I don't know."

He evidently came prepared to persuade, and starts listing off his arguments rapid-fire. "Diane, you're a perfect fit. Stevenson likes your politics, and you like hers. You have friends who can help her fundraise when the time comes around. And you're the kind of candidate who can excite the people we want to influence." Almost an afterthought, he adds, "And you're brilliant and you're eminently qualified and you will be amazing at it."

Diane shakes her head; putting it in the future tense is a cheap tactic she can see right through, but she can't help but see this, too: she _will_ be. But still:  "I'm in a different place in my life than I was then, Eli. I like where I'm at."

"Oh, I don't believe that for a second. If you're comfortable over there at Lockhart and Whoever, then I know you're looking for the next big challenge to take on. This is it, Diane."

She goes silent, lost in thought. A big part of her still wants to fulfill this dream, but, looking around, a big part of her is also proud of what she has built here at the firm at last. Now that everything is finally in a good place, shouldn't she be able to relax and enjoy it for a while, before upending everything all over again?

"This judgeship is yours, Diane," he continues, undeterred. "You were the right choice then and you're the right choice now."

Something in his voice has changed, and it almost moves her. Eli can be many things -- ruthless, conniving, a self-serving pragmatist -- but he is also fiercely loyal. She knows he did his best for her the first time around, knows it killed him to tell her it was over. Listening to him, she realizes he is, at least in part, doing this for her.

It doesn't make her decision clearer, but it at least makes her consider going through it all again. "Can I think about it?"

"Last time I gave you three hours. I can give you three days now."

"Oh, that's generous!" she laughs.

"We have to move fast, either way," he says, and the pragmatist has returned. "I'm sorry, but we will need an answer by Thursday."

"That's fine. I can work with that."

"Good. And tell you what -- can you come down here tomorrow? I'd like you to meet her. I think that will put any doubts you have to rest."

Diane smiles -- either way, she'd like to meet her, too. It never hurts to make an ally of another powerful woman. "I'd like that."

"Good -- I'll have someone confirm her availability with your assistant. Meet her, think it over, and then tell me yes."

She laughs. "We'll see. Bye, Eli."

She disconnects the call, and sits there half-stunned, half-giddy for a few moments. She honestly does not know what she wants, but she does know it will be so good to make the decision for herself, this time. So much of her life is in flux right now, but it all feels within her control. And that, she finds, is a wonderful place to be.

But _Thursday_ is such a short time away to decide the next ten years of her life. And, oh -- she would so love to have a good, long, in-person talk about all of this with Kurt before she gives her answer. He is such a good listener, knows just what to ask to get her to think about things in a new light, and has a way, after his long, stoic silences, of coming out with a few words that put everything suddenly into perfect perspective. He helped her more than he probably knows the first time she went through this -- she wants him there with her now just as much.

Not for the first time this afternoon, she finds herself missing him almost painfully. She will take a phone call if it's all she can get, but it's small comfort when she just wants _him:_ to talk to, to laugh with, to hold, to touch, to feel understood in a glance. She knows, too, that he is still a decision about the future she is in the process of making, and she probably shouldn't rush it along either. But what is there to wait for when it all feels so right, when they are so close to having all of those things again?

If she talks to Janet Stevenson and it feels this right, then she wouldn't hesitate to tell Eli yes.

Still, three days does give her some time. She doesn't need to figure it all out here and now. She gets up and finishes packing up her things.


	17. Chapter 17

Abuzz with all of the new possibilities open to her, Diane steps out onto the street and hails a taxi. She directs the driver to their favorite bar close to the courthouse, where Lucca and Laura headed directly after a long but triumphant day in court. Although she's had her differences in the past with both Lucca and Monica, and all four of them have such different personalities and working styles, they have all learned to complement one another perfectly, in and out of the courtroom. Over the last two years, they have all earned one another's respect, and following that, their friendship. She really  _ likes _ them all, and after decades of championing other women only to see the relationship devolve into competition or betrayal, what they have built together is truly refreshing. 

She walks into the bar and looks around, finding them at their usual table. She smiles, thinking of Kurt's regular place at his old ice cream shop. There is something to be said for belonging. And as she watches them laughing together, supporting each other and enjoying the company, she knows she will really miss this, if she does leave.

But she also knows, if she does leave, she will trust them unconditionally to carry it on without her.

Laura sees her first and waves her over, standing when she reaches the table and pulling her into a tight hug. "We won!" she practically squeals, still green enough that every victory is a celebration.

"I heard!" Diane says, matching her enthusiasm, then taking a seat between Laura and Monica. "Excellent job, both of you. All of you, actually," she adds, reaching out and squeezing Monica's hand. "It's been a hell of a good day. Calls for some champagne I think."

She orders a bottle and as they toast the firm's successes, she watches each of their faces, wondering how they'll react to her news. Laura will be thrilled for her, that much she knows. The others will be more hesitant, weighing her value to the firm, what it will cost to buy her out, which clients will look elsewhere if she's not there. But in the end, they'll wish her well, trusting she'll exit with professionalism and grace. It will be different from last time. It has to be.

"Diane? Diane!" Belatedly she realizes Laura has been trying to capture her attention and turns to look at her.

Her goddaughter laughs. "Where were you just now?"

As much as she wants to discuss Eli's offer with her partners, she has to talk to Kurt first. That was precisely one of their problems before. Too often, things came up in her life and she would just… handle them. If she wanted a different perspective she might talk to Will, or Kalinda, or David, or whoever happened to have her confidence at the time, rather than her husband. She justified it, if she thought about it at all, because her colleagues were there, available, when he so often was not, and they understood her world in a way he could not. But that was the past. Her life was going to be, she hoped, his life too -- fully and completely this time. His opinion is the first one she needs to hear.

"Sorry, just wool-gathering. What did you say?"

"I asked," Laura repeats, "why you were at the office. I thought you were taking the day off."

"Oh, you know how it is," she says lightly. "Plans change." Laura has still not warmed to the idea of Kurt being in her life again, and she really doesn't want to get into all that in front of the other two women - particularly Lucca, who played a part in everything falling apart the first time. It's a subject they discussed once early on and then steadfastly avoided, aside from a handful of oblique texts today. Eventually they'll have to talk about it, before she and Kurt come face to face one day when he picks her up at the office for lunch, but now is not the time.

"Uh huh," Laura responds, casting an exaggerated look of suspicion over the rim of her glass as she sips. Diane knows she's already planning to bring up the subject again as soon as she catches her alone, but thankfully she is just tactful enough to respect her desire not to discuss it in present company.

"Just like my plans to go away with Marcus next weekend have evidently changed," Monica jumps in, bitterly. Whether she has changed the subject naturally or to take the heat off Diane she can't tell, but either way she's grateful.

"Oh?" Lucca prods her, eyebrows raised in interest. "What's up with him?"

"I don't know. Says he's busy at work. Who isn't busy at work?" she asks rhetorically, but they all grumble vaguely in support. "I guess he's just not that interested."

"Then screw him," Laura says, almost always inclined to advise her girlfriends to dump the bum, doubly so after quickly downing her first glass of champagne.

"Well, the trouble is, I still want to," Monica smirks back, the alcohol loosening her usually discreet tongue as well.

They all laugh, and Lucca shoves her playfully.

"Hey, can I get you ladies another bottle?" Their server sidles over again, a young man with a charming smile, eager to work this table full of obviously well-paid women for a generous tip.

Before Diane can demur that she needs to get home early, Laura shouts out an impulsive "Yes!" and announces to the table this round's on her. One more round, Diane tells herself, quickly glancing at her watch and knowing Kurt won't be getting into town for another hour or so anyway. 

"I think you should give the guy a chance," Lucca says, once he walks away. "If he's not serious, then you don't get serious. But you might as well have fun with him first. He's hot."

Monica waves this advice away dismissively. "I'm too old for those games."

Diane rolls her eyes at the 'too old' comment, leaning over to offer her perspective. "Then don't play games. Why don't you just ask him what he wants?"

All three give her looks ranging from dubious to concern for her mental health. Diane laughs, shaking her head. "Look, if you want to be casual, then be casual. But if you don't, and he really upset you, then you should tell him how you feel and ask him to do the same."

"Yeah, maybe," Monica says, wrinkling her nose doubtfully.

Diane laughs to herself. Maybe Monical will have to learn the hard way; god knows that was the only way she ever did herself.

One more round quickly turns to two, and before she knows it Diane is more buzzed than she can remember being in a long time. Catching herself laughing just a little too loud, shouting and interrupting her companions, she may have to acknowledge she is well on her way to drunk. The other women, having put away at least one more drink than her before she arrived, are completely plastered, laughing uproariously and singing along to the songs they know -- and making ridiculous attempts at the ones they don't. It's good to see them let loose, but she can't really keep up with them.

She checks her phone and finds Kurt sent a text, just a few minutes ago:

_ Home safe. Call you later. _

She grins, suddenly oblivious to her surroundings, and texts back:

_ Heading home myself. Give me at least 30 min, but no rush. _

She tucks her phone back in her purse and drains the last sip of champagne from her glass. "Ladies, it's been wonderful, but I'm going to call it a night."

They all groan and protest, but she stands, leaving enough cash behind to pay for her share and then some. "Too much for me on a Monday, but you stay and celebrate! You're all young enough to feel like death in the morning."

"You want me to take a cab back with you?" Laura offers.

"No," Diane says firmly -- perhaps a little more firmly than necessary, but Laura gets the idea. "See you all tomorrow -- come in a little late if you need to."

She winks at them and turns to leave, feeling slightly wobbly as she walks out, but certain she doesn't let it show.

Even after the cab ride home, after changing out of her work clothes and into pajamas, settling down on the living room sofa, she is still good and buzzed. Or perhaps it was the anticipation of hearing his voice again soon -- likely a heady combination of the two. She opens her book, having made little progress since they started talking daily, but predictably comprehends little of its meaning again. Her mind has more to work with now and it makes the most of it, fresh memories of his hands all over her taking control of her conscious attention, all over her and, god, almost,  _ almost  _ inside her...

Her phone ringing startles her back to reality, and she reaches out to grab it. She smiles; he has given her 30 minutes exactly.

"Hey," she answers, her voice low and drowsy from the intoxication -- of one kind and another.

"Hey," he responds, amused, evidently picking up on it in just one word. "Hope I didn't interrupt anything -- were you working late?"

"No, no, no, I went out with the girls -- we all had good reason to celebrate," she says warmly, distantly aware she is slightly slurring her words.

Kurt lets out a loud burst of laughter. "Diane -- are you drunk?"

“Mmmm,” she hums, “I might be.” She swings her legs up onto the couch and scooches down further, her free hand landing on her stomach.

“I’m sorry I’m missing it,” he says, his voice lowering slightly in response to hers.

“Oh, so am I, believe me.” Her fingertips slide against the silk of her pyjama top, stopping to fuss with the tiny pearl buttons keeping it closed. “Do you remember the first time we got a little drunk together?” Of course he does, she knows he does, but reminiscing isn’t her goal. She just wants him to talk. His voice, especially when it’s low and rough with desire, always does such lovely things to her.

“Our first date,” he answers immediately. “You wore a blue dress. You were the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. Still are.”

Her hand continues its ascent up to her breast, thumbing first one nipple, then the other, before journeying back down her abdomen. “Keep talking,” she says dreamily, eyes sliding shut.

“Keep talking? What…Diane, what are you…Are you..?” His voice changes from confused, to surprised, to intrigued in the space of a few words.

“Mmmhmm,” she confirms. “Do you mind?”

“I…fuck…no, I don’t mind. What do you want me to talk about?”

“Anything. Just talk. Where are you?” Her hand ventures lower, fingertips dancing over her silk-covered hipbones, down to the tops of her thighs.

“In my room, lying on the bed. The sheets still smell like your perfume. It reminds me of waking up with you in my arms this morning.” He’s quiet for a long moment, but just before she has to break the spell to prompt him again, he continues. “It was the best morning I’ve had in a long time. But it could have gotten even better from there.”

“How?” she breathes. “Tell me.” She adjusts the phone so it rests on her shoulder between her neck and the back of the couch, freeing her other hand to slide over her breast.

His breathing is getting heavier, and she pictures him lying on the bed she left that morning, pillows propping him up, one hand holding the phone to his ear, the other rubbing his hard cock through his thin boxer shorts.

Her clit throbs at the image as her hand skitters lower.

“I was dreaming about you,” he confides, “Right before you woke me up. About making love to you. I wanted to turn that dream into reality. To kiss you, touch you, pull you on top of me and slide up into you in one hard, fast stroke.”

She can’t help it, she moans out loud at his words. “Oh god.” Her fingers pick at the bow tying the drawstring of her silk pants and before she knows it, it’s come undone and her hand has drifted inside.

He’s still talking, low and gravelly in her ear, telling her all the things he wishes he could have done to her, with her, that morning in bed, and later on the back porch with his hand up her skirt.

She’s as wet now as she was then, and while her own slim, soft fingers are no substitute for his large, rougher ones, she’ll make it work.

“Keep talking,” she implores when the line goes silent again, empty of all but his heavy breathing.

He chuckles softly. “Demanding.” The single word betrays how close he’s getting and sends her spiraling closer to completion.

“Oh yes,” she says, fingers of circling quickly over her clit while the other lightly pinches a nipple. “You know me. Always have to be first.” She swallows hard, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Better hurry then,” he pants. “Oh fuck, Diane. I love you.”

And those words in her ear as he comes are all she needs to follow him. Every muscle in her body contacts and releases at once as she curls up and pulls in a sharp breath, holding it for a couple of beats, before letting it out slowly as she rides the waves of pleasure radiating out from her core.

“I love you too,” she tells him after she retrieves the phone from where it fell when she came.

He’s still trying to catch his breath on the other end of the line. “That was…”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “It was….wow. An excellent appetizer.” She purposely drops her voice an octave. “But I’m still looking forward to the main course.”

“Soon,” he promises. “As soon as I can get Deb settled somewhere, I’ll be there.”

“I’m holding you to that.” The champagne and the post-orgasmic bliss are conspiring to lull her to sleep. Already, she can barely keep her eyes open. But there had been something she wanted to tell him earlier…

Oh! Eli’s call. She can’t believe she almost forgot. Perhaps she should leave that for another time when they can really talk it through. But she wants him to be the first to know, and she has a lot to do before she gives Eli her answer. Anyway, wasn’t that one of the things they promised each other they would work on? Sharing their lives with each other first? She’ll tell him; she’ll just tell him now and they can talk about the details tomorrow when she knows more. ”Kurt?”

“Hmm?” He sounds no more alert than she is, and she smiles at the image of him in her mind, now lying flat with his arm thrown across his forehead.

“I had an interesting call today. From Eli Gold.”

“Gold? As in Florrick’s man?” The sleepiness fades from his voice, replaced by something sharper.

“Yes, though he works for Stevenson now,” she clarifies. “He had a job offer for me.”

“Oh yeah?”

Warning bells sound somewhere in her alcohol and orgasm-addled mind, but she’s not quite able to put the reasons for them together.

“She wants to endorse me for the Supreme Court, Kurt. Can you believe it? I may have another chance at it, after all this time.”

Silence. Heart sinking, she counts three awkward beats before he speaks again.

“I’m glad, Diane. I know that’s what you’ve wanted for a long time.”

The edge in his voice puts her on guard, and she wishes more than anything she could see his face right now, to be able to reassure her with her own. She wishes she could snuggle into his arms and make him forget she mentioned it until morning.

“I always have. But I did want to talk about it with you.”

There is another uncomfortable pause, followed by a sigh she doesn’t know how to read. “Look, I… I'm really tired. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Okay… G--”

Before she can get out the word  _ goodnight_, the line goes dead in her ear.


	18. Chapter 18

Diane turns her phone over in her hand in frustration, trying to decide whether she'd prefer to pick a fight or let Kurt stew in the awful silence he has created. She hasn't heard from him since his abrupt goodbye the previous night. At the time, it took her a few moments to put it together, still in a kind of blissful haze from the alcohol and the orgasm and the naive sense that everything in her life was coming perfectly together. At first she was stunned, then concerned. After a day of thinking about it, she can't believe it took her so long to really understand. He did it again: shut down completely at the first hint of disagreement. The worst part is, she still isn’t sure why they’re disagreeing.

She checks her messages and scowls. Nothing but texts from Eli, one every two hours, almost like clockwork:

_Call me. Say yes._

She would let Kurt sit and stew forever, she _would_ , if only she didn't owe Eli a response. But even now, as much as she resents it, she still wants his opinion before she gives her answer. Wants to _hear_ it, at any rate; his silence has made it plain enough.

She sets down her phone on the dining room table and walks away, buying time by going into the kitchen for a glass of wine. If he would call her first, explain and apologize, she would give him the benefit of the doubt. Chalk it up to growing pains. But if _she_ has to be the one to call him and verbally shake sense into him, not because she wants to but because she’s on a deadline and has choice, she is going to be furious. She is going to say something she doesn't mean.

_Wine will only help,_ she thinks sardonically, but she pours it anyway, pours a nice big glass. She wants to really lay into him, let him feel how angry he has made her, how abandoned, how...

How _hurt._

She takes a long drink, shoving the feeling aside. She prefers bitterness, just now. She begins pacing from room to room, trying to decide what to do, fueled by her anger as she replays every moment of the past day. Even this morning she was still mainly _sad._ It felt like she was betraying him just talking to Stevenson before she really talked to him. But that was his decision, she has fully realized since. She waited to talk to him, wanted to hear his thoughts, and he simply absented himself from the discussion without even offering a perfunctory excuse.

And she loved Janet Stevenson, as much as Eli promised she would, as much as she already knew she would. She was frank and intelligent and principled, easy to get along with, and she called on Diane's desire to serve the greater good. Nevermind that Eli almost certainly told her that would be an effective means of persuasion. Diane had _wanted_ to be persuaded, and she would have said yes before she walked out that door, except...

_Except._

She glances back at the phone on the table, clenching her free fist. She wants to make a place for him in her life, still wants that more than anything, and he has shut her out without a word of explanation.

She would like to know, really would like to know, how long it would take him to call if she just sat back and waited. But she is not leaving this decision until the last possible moment. He will either have to understand tonight, or he never will.

Striding back to the dining room table, she picks up her phone and dials before she has a chance to think twice.

Six rings sound before the voicemail kicks in, and she becomes more agitated with every one.

“Y _ou have reached the voicemail of_ Kurt McVeigh. P _lease leave your message after the tone_.” The involuntary little flip of her stomach when she hears him say his name in the middle of the electronic prompt only upsets her further.

"Is everything all right there?" she demands of the recording. “Has something happened with Debbie? Is Joey all right? Did you fall down the stairs; maybe you've been hospitalized? Because I’m hard pressed to explain this, Kurt. What the _hell_ made you hang up on me last night, and not say a word to explain? Not a word, about anything? And why haven’t I heard from you since?”

***

The clock says 2:17 AM when she awakens with a start, jerking straight up in bed, hand flying up to cover her pounding heart. Looking wildly from side to side, she sees nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that could have woken her so abruptly. She recalls no dreams that could have frightened her into consciousness.

Reaching over, she switches on the bedside lamp and fumbles for her phone. No missed calls, no notifications of any sort. Kurt still hasn’t tried to reach her. Disappointment tries mingle with her fear, but she shoves it back. Fear, at least, she can do something about.

With her heart rate slowly returning to normal, she hesitantly throws back the covers, wishing not for the first time that Justice was still with her. No prowler would ever have been able to sneak up on her with that little dog on duty, protecting her mistress.

Her bare feet hit the floor and she walks carefully to the closed door of her bedroom and, feeling more than a little silly, presses her ear to the wood. After a couple of seconds she straightens up. As near as she can tell, the house beyond is quiet and unoccupied.

She moves from the door to the window and looks out. It’s raining hard, water running in rivulets down the panes of glass. Maybe it was thunder that woke her.  Shrugging slightly to herself, she returns to her bed. She’s just about to turn out the light when she hears it – the chime of the doorbell. That must be what woke her in the first place, but who on earth is ringing her doorbell at two in the morning?

She wants to ignore it, hope they go away, but her conscience would never let her follow through. What if it’s a neighbour in trouble?

Getting out of bed again, she pulls on her robe. Briefly she considers retrieving her gun from the safe beneath her bed, but she knows she’s not strong enough to prevent an intruder from pulling it from her grasp and turning it on her. Without the element of surprise, it’s worse than useless to her.

She pulls open her bedroom door and, without turning on any lights, proceeds to the front room where she can peer out at the steps from the window.

The doorbell rings yet again just as she moves the curtains aside, but this time it’s accompanied by a loud series of knocks and a familiar voice calling her name.

Her stomach flips over at the sound. Letting the curtains fall back in place, she rushes to the front door and pulls it open, standing back to admit Kurt. He’s soaked from the rain and dripping on her entryway, but he’s still the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

“Kurt, what…why…” She finds she’s at a complete loss for words, and suddenly very near tears at the stubborn, determined look on his face.

“Because I’m an idiot,” he says, wiping the rain from his face. “And I’m sorry. And I picked up the phone to tell you that a dozen times today, but every time I tried to think of how to say it, I knew I’d mess it up. I just needed to see you.”

She laughs, can't help but laugh, at how absurd and wonderful it is to find him here at her door at 2am, soaked through, so serious and so vulnerable. She laughs, so full of joy and love that it comes pouring out of her, washing away with it all her residual anger. But seeing his expression change to confusion, then doubt, she quickly grabs his face with both hands, pulling him to her, putting any fears he may have to rest. He responds instantly, falling against her in exhaustion and relief, worry melting away. She laughs again, muffled noises swallowed up in his hungry kisses, as she feels the rain hit her too, standing half in and half out of her doorway.

She pulls away, still grinning, half-wondering if he's really here. "You're sopping wet -- get in the house."

With a sideways smile, he complies, following her inside. She turns to face him, shaking her head, running an affectionate hand through his hair, a few wet locks matted to his forehead. "Let me get you a towel," she says, laughing again.

_What is the point of this delay?_ she asks herself as she pads toward the linen closet. _Easier just to rid him of his wet clothes and have done with it; no point pretending it isn't going to end there._ She laughs to herself, giddy at the thought of it. But no -- there are a few things they must say first. What happened last night can’t happen again.

When she returns, she finds he has hung up his dripping wet jacket on the coat rack and stepped out of his shoes. He accepts the offer of the towel sheepishly, running it over his hair and face.

"I didn't think about bringing a change of clothes," he says, looking slightly embarrassed.

She bites her lip to keep from laughing again, eyeing him up and down. His shirt is dry enough; it's really only the pants that pose a problem now.

_Exactly_ , the unhelpful voice chimes in again.

"Take them off, McVeigh," she orders playfully. "I'll start a fire."

She walks across the room, starting her electric fireplace and grabbing a blanket. Leaving his jeans hanging beside his jacket, he follows her in only his shorts, taking her offered hand as she leads them toward the sofa in front of the fire. She lets him sit first, then takes a seat next to him, her legs tucked beneath her, one arm draped behind him across the back of the couch. She pulls the blanket around them both, letting her other hand fall gently to his knee. He covers it in his own hand, leaning his head back against the cushion, staring back up at her in quiet contentment.

"You're crazy," she says tenderly. "But I'm glad you're here."

"Hoped you would be." He pauses, his eyes drinking her in. "I've never been very good at the distance thing. And truth is, I don't want to be. I want to be good at _this_ \-- here, with you."

They both fall silent in the echo of those words. It’s an effort to break eye contact, but she knows she must. They’re dangerously close to falling into old habits, of addressing emotional problems with physical solutions, and from the look on his face, she knows his thoughts are mirroring hers. They both remove their hands at the same time, and she backs out of his personal space, settling into the corner of the couch.

“What happened last night, Kurt?” she asks quietly.

He sighs heavily, but when he speaks, his voice is steady. "Look, I'm happy for you, Diane. Honestly, I am. I know how long you’ve wanted this judgeship. But I wish you had talked to me first. I thought we were doing things differently this time."

_What?_ She doesn’t understand. Shouldn’t that be her line? She opens her mouth to protest, but he holds up a hand to silence her.

“This is hard for me, okay? Let me get it out.”

With effort, she complies, closing her mouth and gesturing for him to continue.

"For a lot of our marriage, we maintained our separate lives. I thought that's what you wanted -- I thought I wanted that, too, at first. I was set in my ways, used to having no one to answer to. It made sense for people like us, living as separate entities, married in our hearts, but not in our day-to-day lives. But I guess it started to eat away at me pretty quickly. I always wanted more of you, more of _us_. And I know I never told you that. That was my fault. But I'm telling you now -- if I'm going to be a part of your life, I want to be a part of your whole life this time. We need to be real partners. We need to talk about major decisions that are going to affect both of us.”

Somewhere in the middle of his speech it dawns on her. He thinks she has already made her choice about the judgeship without ever talking to him. She could interrupt now, clear all that up, but she can see the care and effort he’s putting into his words, and god how she loves him for it. This is what she wanted from him all along, for him to open up about his true feelings. She holds her tongue and lets him finish.

"Last night when you told me about the judgeship," he continues, "I fell into the old habit of thinking I had no right to an opinion on how you live your life. I shut down. It's not something I'm proud of, and it's not something I mean to keep doing. I've been thinking about that a lot today, and on the drive up here. I wish you'd told me, Diane, but I'm not blameless. I have a bad habit of keeping my thoughts to myself. I let things go until they get out of control. I want to be more honest with you about what I feel and what I want from now on, but I can’t do that unless you invite me in, too."

She smiles tenderly, nodding in agreement, if not at the misunderstanding that has triggered these thoughts, then certainly at his conclusions.

"That's what I drove up here to say. I'm telling you how I feel now. And I know we can do this, but I need to know you want the same things."

He falls silent then, his face held carefully neutral, his eyes watching her steadily.

“Can I talk now?” she asks after a few seconds of silence.

He nods, expression still guarded, but seemingly ready to hear her side.


	19. Chapter 19

"I didn't accept the judgeship, Kurt," she says simply, trying to keep her smile at bay.

He looks back at her in utter confusion. "What?"

"I didn't accept it. Not yet, at least."

"But you said--" He pauses and stares off for a moment, as if trying to reconnect the dots. "You said you were out celebrating."

"Oh!" She can't help but let a little laugh escape. It hadn't occurred to her he could have misinterpreted that, of all things. "We were celebrating a court victory, Kurt. I didn’t even tell my partners, let alone start celebrating with them."

"Oh, god," he groans, slowly leaning his head against the back of the couch and letting his eyes fall shut as he realizes how far from the truth his assumptions were. A moment later he rotates his head to face her again with a pained but sheepish smile. "Did you have to let me say all that?"

"I wasn't going to stop you when you had such lovely things to say," she grins back at him, her eyes teasing but full of adoration. "But incidentally, yes, I was waiting to decide. So that I could talk to you first."

"Will you forgive me for being an old fool?" he asks, but she can tell his remark is good-natured; he's hardly mortified by his mistake.

"There's nothing to forgive. In fact, I think it's a rather good thing. We both came to the same conclusion on our own about how we want to share our lives with each other, didn’t we?"

He lets out a long sigh. "Right, after we put ourselves through a lot of emotional turmoil for no reason."

Her eyes go suddenly wide and she feels her stomach drop, stricken as she remembers. She certainly had put herself through her fair share of turmoil before he showed up on her doorstep, too. "Kurt, did you listen to your voicemail?"

"When? I don't think I looked at my phone after I got in the car -- that’s how determined I was," he laughs, shaking his head again.

She leans forward, reaching out to let her hand fall gently to his chest. "I left you a message. Please delete it."

His eyebrows immediately shoot up. "So I guess I wasn't the only one to jump to conclusions?"

"No, you weren't." Her fingertips curl around the fabric of his shirt, a mock-threatening edge creeping into her smile. "Delete it."

There is a smugness to his expression that clearly communicates:  _ We'll see. _ Yes, she’s sure he would get a kick out of hearing her equally ill-reasoned fury now that they have cleared the air. But he lets it go at that, taking her hand in his own and letting them fall to his lap. She settles back against the couch again, much closer to him now.

"It's been hard," she says, turning serious again. "It's hard to tell just how you're feeling when I can't see you. Hard to show you how I feel. Hard not to jump to terrible conclusions sometimes."

He strokes the back of her hand softly, tracing lazy patterns against her skin. "We know each other pretty well, but we're not mind readers."

"And sometimes not even the best words can say everything." She props her head up on her fist, regarding him thoughtfully. "I want you here, Kurt. I want you with me."

He smiles back at her steadily, his fingers stopping their movements, clasping around her hand now and giving it a squeeze, silently affirming his agreement.

"So tell me about the judgeship."

Her smile deepens at the reminder, and the warmth and interest he asks her with now. "Well,  _ if  _ I accepted, and assuming I make it further than the last time of course, it would be a long, grueling campaign. But Eli seems confident I could win."

"It's Cook County," he says, making a display of scowling, as if he were the lone voice of sanity in a mad liberal world. "You'll definitely win."

"And, of course, I'd have to leave my firm."

"How do you feel about that?" he asks, his eyes searching her for any sign of misgivings.

"I'd be sad to leave -- we've built something that really works, at last," she confesses. "But I know I'd be leaving it in good hands, too. And I think I might be ready to move on, finally."

"And you'd love the work," he states more than wonders, knowing her all too well.

"I would," she gushes, unable to resist breaking into a grin. But she pulls herself up short a moment later; there are other factors that really might impact them both. "The court would only be in session for a few weeks at a time throughout the year. But, you know, I'd be in Springfield."

He nods slowly, thinking this over. "Springfield's nice. Halfway to Missouri."

"But you work up here. So we'd be looking at distance again."

"I've clocked enough hours on the road this week, that's clearly not going to stop me," he shrugs. "Anyway, I'm sure we could work that out."

"I'm sure we could too," she says softly, pleased he thinks so. She bites her lip then, hesitating before mentioning the hardest part of all, although she is certain it must have crossed his mind, too. “And if I do this, Kurt… They’re going to talk about my personal life. They’re going to talk about us.”

“Yeah.” He looks away, hiding his already unreadable expression.

“I won’t accept the offer if it’s going to hurt you to dredge all that up. If it’s going to hurt what we’re building together.” She squeezes his hand, pausing until he turns back and meets her gaze again. She needs him to see just how serious she is about this. “ _This_ is the most important thing to me.”

“Honestly, Diane…” A slow smile begins to spread across his face. “That’s all I need to know.”

“Are you sure?” she presses him, wanting neither of them to have any doubts about this.

He nods. “If that’s how you feel -- and that’s how I feel, too -- then it can’t hurt us.”

She lets her other hand drop behind him again, her fingers resting at his neck, slowly rising to thread through his still-damp hair. She sits up straighter, looking at him directly. "I don't think I ever told you."

"Told me what?"

"The first time. When I was up for it before. When I first asked you to marry me." She giggles a little at the thought. That night, in his hotel room, they were in a position much like this. So much has happened since then, so much has changed -- and so very little has changed at all.

"I remember it well," he says, a small smile spreading across his face at the same memory.

"I told you about my father that night. You know, I asked Kalinda to investigate me, so I'd know what was likely to come up in the election."

He nods.

"She dug up some dirt on you, too. And she told me it would be smart to break it off with you. She thought you might actually cost me the election."

He looks off, thinking this over. "Was this before...?"

"Yes," she smiles, leaning over to kiss his cheek, her lips lingering there, pulling his attention back to her. "I didn't care, Kurt. I still wanted to marry you."

"Even if it cost you everything?"

"It wouldn't have cost me everything. I'd still have you." She looks at him for a long time, her hand still wandering slowly through his hair, grazing the skin of his neck, slipping beneath his collar. "I wish I'd told you that then. I don't know why I didn't."

"We were still dancing around each other, even after we decided to get married," he laughs, remembering. "Maybe you were afraid I'd do something stupid and noble."

"Maybe," she laughs too. "But I wish I'd let you know I put you first. I was never very good at showing you that. But I did then." She lets her forehead fall against his again, lowering her voice. "And I do now."

He lets his other hand slip around her waist, pulling her closer. His voice is barely above a whisper when he says, "I know."

"Good," she says, loosing both of her hands to embrace him, her arms draped around his neck. He follows suit, wrapping both arms around her waist, and for long moments they just hold each other tightly, clinging to this precious thing between them they have fought so hard to get back -- that in some ways had never really left them at all.

She pulls back just enough to lower her lips to his again, a slow, solemn kiss at first, as if sealing a promise to one another, the question settled now and forever. It isn't long before that thread of desire starts to coil within her again, and she deepens the kiss with a muffled cry of need, met by his hoarse sigh. His fingers grip her hips more tightly, involuntarily pulling her against him in a rhythm. Their kisses quickly become sloppier, needier, more furious until all at once she slows it to a stop, clamping down on his upper lip and sucking it hard, letting her teeth run slowly over his skin, and then pulling away.

He is as breathless as she is, as she leans back to regard him, attempting with some difficulty to open his eyes and see why she has stopped. He can only sigh her name, oblivious to anything but her and his need for her.

"I don't want to wait anymore," she whispers, her voice ragged with desire. Dimly in the back of her mind she tries to recall why they felt the need to wait at all. She knows they have put the worst of their demons to rest. And they have learned how to talk through what remains. There is no doubt in her mind that they'll make it now.

"You always say that," he laughs, but there is a strained edge to his voice that lets her know he neither wants to nor could he very easily wait now, either.

Smirking, she releases her hold on him completely, and moves away from him. She enjoys his little whining noise of missing her nearness, his hands still reaching out to trail lightly over her thighs, her waist as she pulls almost out of his reach for a moment. She adjusts her position, easily slips one leg over his, and turns to face him. He moves his hands to either side of her, gathering the fabric of her robe and lifting it up slowly as she comes to straddle him, lowering herself far back on his knees.

Her movement causes the blanket to slip off them and to the floor, revealing the tenting of his growing erection. She smiles appreciatively, her hands falling to his legs and slowly moving upward as she leans forward, but she stops her progress at the edge of his shorts. Groaning in frustration, he returns his hands to her hips, squeezing and then releasing her.

"You don't want to wait, but you don't mind torturing me," he says, letting out a long exhalation as his hands move back down her thighs over the silky material of her robe, and then travel back up again, this time slipping under the fabric to touch her directly. She shivers and closes her eyes, relishing his touch. She is aching and straining for him just as much --  _ if he only knew. _

"I want to savor you," she corrects him, enjoying watching his eyes droop closed in agony and expectation. Grinning wickedly, she leans over him, moving her hands slowly up his chest now, then getting to work on the buttons of his shirt. She releases each one  methodically, pressing lingering, wet kisses to each inch of flesh she exposes.

He groans in frustration about halfway through this interminable process, his restless hands moving again to cup her ass. He squeezes her hard as her lips move down toward his navel, nipping his skin with her teeth playfully now. She laughs at the easy effect she has on him, but it ends in a surprised grunt as he seizes her, pulling her closer and knocking her almost off balance.

She laughs again as her chest collides with his, kissing him leisurely, welcoming his tongue into her mouth in a crude but effective approximation of what she really wants. She slips her hands underneath his shirt and pulls it roughly from his shoulders, and he sits up enough to allow her to pull it free of his body and drop it carelessly to the floor. He shifts his hips and pulls her closer still and she moans into his mouth as she can feel him now, hard and insistent against her, two thin layers of fabric doing little to separate them.

Those last layers are shed in a frenzy. She grinds down hard against him as he fumbles with the tie of her robe, pulling it away from her in one movement, not hesitating a for second to pull the nightgown over her head after it. She pulls back then, breathless, her hands braced against the cushion behind him. He takes a moment to take her in, eyes roaming over the curves of her naked body he has missed but never forgotten. He runs his hands slowly over her hips and up her slides, tickling her with his gentle touch,  _ god  _ much too gentle now, grazing her stomach, just barely skimming the underside of her breasts.

"Kurt, please," she practically pants, pushing herself into his touch, and now it is his turn to laugh in satisfaction, but she doesn't care if she has ceded some control to him now, now that his mouth is hard on her, sucking gently and then roughly, his tongue running over one nipple while his fingers play idly with the other. She grabs his head and holds him there, hears his muffled laughter again as if mocking her, as if he had any intention of pulling away. In retaliation, she grinds her pelvis against his again, moving against him in a steady and encouraging rhythm, and she feels him pause in his attentions, for a moment all of his conscious thought directed between his legs.

His hands move back to her ass, slipping under the silk of her last scant article of clothing while she tugs at the elastic of his boxers. The position is awkward and impractical for what has suddenly become their overriding aim, and they both seem to realize it at once, no longer fighting and teasing one another. They move together swiftly to shift her onto her back, and he follows her down after pulling her panties free of her long legs. She sits up slightly to pull his pants free of his waist and down his legs, letting her feet curl up and pull them the rest of the way.

Their lips find one another's again and their hands move over each other reverently, reveling in how well they fit against one another after all this time. So much has changed since the last time they touched one another this way, changed for the better, she hopes, but this, this is their one constant. The sound of his breath in her ear, his rough touches always followed by a soothing one, his unrestrained noises more eloquent than much of what he says -- all of this is exactly as it always has been between them. She wants this to last forever, this simple rediscovery and slow worship of one another, but it has been too long... she needs him too much...

She whispers his name, sliding her hips against his with unmistakable intention now. He leans his forehead against hers, nodding, as if taking a moment to prepare himself. "I need you inside me, Kurt," she rasps, unnecessarily, but saying it out loud drives him as crazy as she expects it will. He lets out a low groan, shifting just slightly to position himself at her entrance, and she is so ready for him he slips inside in one long, effortless movement.

"Oh, god," they both exhale, almost in unison, and begin moving together. She closes her eyes and wraps her arms tightly around him, her hips pushing up against him as he thrusts hard inside her, pinning her against the cushion. She gives herself over to what quickly becomes a frantic pace, matching his strokes and encouraging him on. They will take their time with each other later; they will make love leisurely and take all night if they like. They will have all the time in the world for that...  _ later. _ But now she is practically shaking with pent-up need and she's surprised she didn't come the second he touched her naked body and his every stroke now makes her feed like she's being torn apart and _ god, _ she just needs, _needs _ ...

A litany of curses give way to unintelligible cries as he pushes her over the edge. She bucks against him uncontrollably, her muscles seizing and contracting as she comes, his name and mumbled words of love on her lips as words slowly return to her. He follows moments later, taking every last bit of self control to wait for her, clinging to her tightly as he finds his release.

They lie there for a long time, holding one another and catching their breath. He slides out of her and turns on his side, pulling her to face him, both lost in soothing kisses and lazy touches until she is close to drifting off to sleep in his arms.

She snaps awake, unsure how much time has passed, but finds he is still watching her tenderly, his fingertips still running slowly down her arm from shoulder to wrist and back again.

She smiles, placing a sleepy kiss on his lips, then struggles to come to a sitting position, her hand resting lightly on his chest. "It's late,” she whispers. “Come to bed."


	20. Chapter 20

The next morning, cheerful despite the lack of sleep, she’s standing at the kitchen counter making coffee when he comes up behind her, arms wrapping around her waist, and buries his face in the crook of her neck. His hair, still wet from his shower, is cold against her cheek.

“Good morning,” she says, shivering slightly and covering his hands with hers.

“Good morning,” he says, lips warm against her neck as his words turn into open mouthed kisses pressed against her skin.

“Mmm,” she sighs, surrendering herself to the desire welling up inside her. She leans against him, allowing her head to loll back on his shoulder, baring more of her neck to his ministrations.

He moulds himself more firmly to her and it’s only then she realizes he’s dressed only in his shorts.

“Mr. McVeigh,” she practically purrs, “where are your clothes?”

“Not sure,” he says. “But I was kind of hoping I wouldn’t need them for a while yet.” His hips press forward, leaving her with no doubt about his intentions.

“But you just showered,” she points out, more to prolong the anticipation than over any real concern for his schedule.

“Yep,” he agrees. “Squeaky clean.” He tongues her earlobe as his hands slide into the front of her robe, seeking out her breasts and sliding a thumb over each nipple.

She closes her eyes, the tendrils of pleasure extending outward from his fingers setting her nerves tingling in anticipation of more. “How much time do you have?” he asks directly into her ear, his voice already low and gravelly with arousal.

She captures his wrist with her hand and carefully turns it until she can read his watch without interrupting his fingers. “A couple of hours,” she says. She can feel his grin against her neck. He’s always been a morning man, but their busy schedules had far too often prevented them from acting on it. Not so today. She’s already called her assistant to say she’ll be in late.

With a tiny sigh of regret at dislodging his hands from her breasts, she turns in his arms, sliding her hands up his bare chest to his face, pulling him to her for a kiss. He meets her lips hungrily, hands sliding down her back to her ass, pulling her hard against him.

Startled she pulls away for a second, then laughs. “That must have been a hell of a shower.”

“I think it was being surrounded by all your creams and potions that did it,” he says, hands continuing to slide up and down her backside while holding her against him. “Just the smell of them is a turn-on.” He leans down to nuzzle her neck again.

“Is that so?” she asks, walking them slowly in a circle until he’s now the one leaning against the counter. She takes a step backwards, her eyes raking up and down his body, lingering on his jutting erection. Lifting one finger to her mouth, she inserts just the tip of it into her mouth as she looks at him appraisingly.

Then, with a flourish, she turns and walks quickly in the direction of her bedroom. She doesn’t have to look behind her to know he’s following.

***

“What time do you have to get back?” she asks later as they lie in bed, he on his back with an arm around her, and she moulded to his side, left arm and leg slung across him.

He shrugs. “No real rush; Joe’s home today.” His hand is on top of hers on her chest, softly rubbing her the back of her hand with the tips of his fingers. “Oh,” he says, suddenly patting her hand. “I haven’t told you yet. Deb’s got a spot at a rehab facility in Waukegan.”

“Waukegan?” She lifts her head to look at him. “Wow, that’s close!”

“Yep.” He grins. “I’m going to bring her up to stay at the farm this weekend, and then she checks in Monday morning.”

“Kurt, that’s wonderful! How long is the program?”

“Thirty days. First step is getting her all the way through it, then we’ll decide from there whether she should go home to Missouri or stay with me for a while longer. But either way, I’ve told her I won’t be going back down with her afterwards. Not for more than a day or so. She needs to be able to stand on her own two feet, and my life is here, with you.” The arm around her back pulls her closer as he kisses the top of her head.

She sighs contentedly, almost afraid to think that in as soon as thirty days they could be living together again full-time, just in case she jinxes it. She looks over to where he’s absentmindedly toying with the backs of her fingers. There’s still a slight dent in the finger where her wedding band used to be. She wonders if he’s noticed.

_We could get married,_ she thinks, but doesn’t say.

“Eli called while you were in the shower,” she says instead. “He’s meeting me at office at eleven. Cornering me, more like. If you don’t have to leave right away, why don’t you come in with me?”

He looks at her, eyebrow raised. “Go to your meeting?”

“Yes, why not?” Abruptly, she sits up, turning to face him, now fully committed to the idea. “This is about you too, and Eli needs to understand that.”

“Diane, does he know we’re back together?”

“Not yet, no.” She’s holds up a hand, anticipating the direction his thoughts may be taking. “Wait, Kurt. Listen first. I didn’t tell him because it didn’t seem right to be discussing _you_ with _him_ , before I had a chance to discuss _him_ with _you_. It was more important to me that you and I be on the same page, than Eli and I. Okay?”

He smiles ruefully. “Okay. Don’t worry, I’m not doing that anymore.”

“Good. So you’ll come? Hear what he has to say?”

“I’ll come. You’ve got my full support on this, Diane, whatever happens.”

***

Diane looks over at him as they ride up the elevator to the 28th floor. A subtle change in his almost expressionless face tells her he is feeling tense, anxious, uncertain how this will play out. Aside from Eli, whose reaction is likely to be tiresome enough, he is entering her workplace for the first time in two years -- where everyone from the receptionist to her partners knows their history and will be wondering what he's doing there. If anyone steps out of line, she is already prepared to do everything up to and including firing them to make an example. She hopes for his sake it doesn't come to that, but this is going to be an uncomfortable experience for him at best. She almost feels badly about dragging him into this situation, but it's important to them that they go through this together, every step of the way. And, looking on the bright side, this is one way to let out the secret she has been keeping from most people in her life for the past several weeks -- all at once, without having to say a word.

She reaches for his hand and slips her fingers between his. He looks over at her in response, a smile coming over his face, all trace of worry falling instantly away. In that moment, she knows she's doing the right thing, and she hopes her smile in return convinces him of the same. However hard this may be -- and they likely don't know the half of what they're in for -- they'll get through it just fine as long as they always come back to each other.

The elevator doors slide open and Diane releases his hand with a last sideways smile, stepping out into the office with her head high, almost challenging anyone to show even the slightest surprise and risk her wrath. She says a cool hello to the receptionist, who raises her eyebrows but quickly pulls herself together. Side by side, Diane leads him the short distance to her office, slightly relieved to not run into anyone she might need to speak to on the way, although she's sure enough people have seen to start the rumor mill. She peeks into Laura's office across from hers and finds it empty, which is fortunate. She is the only person in the building Diane expects would speak her mind about seeing Kurt, and she can't very well fire her for it.

"Eli Gold is waiting for you," her assistant says in greeting, also barely managing to just keep her curiosity in check as she notices Kurt. She didn't work at the firm when everything blew up, but Diane is sure she has heard the whole story, and likely knows very well who he is.

"Thanks, Stephanie." Diane breezes by her and into her office, finding Eli standing in front of her desk, preoccupied with whatever he is reading on his cell phone. "Eli!"

"Diane! Great to see--" He has started to greet her before he looks up from his screen, stopping mid-sentence as he does to see not Diane alone, but, sauntering in a couple steps behind her with his hands in his pockets, Kurt McVeigh.

Diane acts as if she hasn't noticed his reaction, turning from one man to the other. "Eli, I don't know if you were ever properly introduced to Kurt McVeigh, my... ex-husband," she grins over at him conspiratorially as she pronounces the word. It sounds so wrong now that it's almost funny, but she supposes that is still the right word for him.

Kurt can't completely suppress his own smile at the sight of hers, but tries to remain serious as he leans over and offers his hand to Eli. Eli, as Diane expected, is visibly shocked, his eyes wide and his mouth almost sputtering as he searches for a response. He finally pulls himself together enough to shake his hand. "No, I don't believe I ever was," he finally says, his expression still clearly communicating, _and I never expected to be._

Amused but determined to keep everyone focused, Diane gestures them both over to sit in the chairs around her small work table. "Eli, I'm glad you could come by. I'm almost ready to give you my answer."

"Almost?" He laughs, but not unkindly. "I'll be honest, Diane, that's not what I was hoping you'd say."

"Well, it is _almost_ the answer you want to hear. But I thought it was only fair to make a few things clear before we proceed -- only fair to both of you."

Eli glances at Kurt uncertainly, and it is obvious he has no powers of interpreting his stoic demeanor. "Diane, what... what is this?"

"If I'm going to accept your offer, you and Janet Stevenson have a right to know what we're likely in for. Last time around you vetted me pretty thoroughly, so you already know all the skeletons in my closet."

He makes a dismissive wave of his hand. "Nothing that's going to sink your candidacy. Compared to most Chicago politicians, even judges, you're clean as a whistle."

She continues, eyeing Kurt as she speaks to gauge his reaction. "And the few other potentially problematic events in my life that have occurred since then are, of course, already very public knowledge."

"Yes," Eli agrees, looking slightly uncomfortable.

"So, there’s only one new variable I need to make you aware of. I imagine it's going to come up in the campaign since it's a major part of my life now," she pauses, smiling over at Kurt again -- she can't help it, every time she thinks of it it makes her feel as giddy as when they first decided to get married. "Kurt and I are together again."

"Okay," Eli says, his eyes going wide again as if this is a lot of information to process.

"Eli, it's hardly earth-shattering," she says, a slight edge of annoyance to her voice, although she fully expected him to react this way.

"No, of course, but you _do_ know, Diane, that people are going to be asking a lot of uncomfortable questions about your personal life. More than they would have anyway -- this is absolutely irresistible for reporters working on a race that no one would want to read about otherwise."

"We know." Diane slightly emphasizes the 'we', as Eli has so far directed all of his comments toward her alone. He might as well get used to how things are now. "We're prepared for that. I just want to make sure you are, too."

"Are you really prepared for that, Diane? Kurt?" he adds belatedly, glancing at the other man. "They're going to talk to everyone you know, drag you both through the mud, make you look like a dupe and you look like a scumbag," he points to each of them in turn, speaking spiritedly now. "And it will look that much worse if you break up again!"

"Mr Gold, that is not going to happen," Kurt says, his voice steady and quiet, his expression never faltering.

Eli, clearly finding this unnerving, turns back to Diane. "If you're asking me for strategic advice, Diane, I would tell you to keep this quiet until the election is over. Stop seeing each other for a few months, and once you're on the Supreme Court, it's nobody's business but yours."

"That is the very last thing we're going to do," she responds, a note of brewing anger in her tone now. She wishes she could stay as calm as Kurt, but they'll have to balance each other out, as they always do. "And it's already nobody's business but ours. I want this position, Eli. But not at the expense of my personal happiness. I'm through doing that."

He sighs as if deeply aggrieved. "Then in that case, the best thing you can do is to get married."


	21. Chapter 21

Diane feels her skin flushing, and hopes neither of them can tell. She glances at Kurt again and finds that he, at least to her eye, is similarly unsettled by Eli's words. They haven't had a chance to even hint at the subject with each other; she had only allowed her thoughts to wander there for the first time this morning. She's hardly prepared to give Eli a status update on the matter.

He continues, oblivious. "If you go into the election a married woman, they’ll still bring up the past, but that cuts them off from making a lot of insinuations about your relationship and your choices."

"We're not going to get married as a political stunt, Eli," she says, firmly enough, she hopes, to put an end to the suggestion for good. "Yes, I am, in part, asking you for strategic advice. About what to say, how to deflect questions and get back to the issues. But I am not now and I will not ever ask you for relationship advice. I am  _ telling  _ you what my relationship with Kurt is, and asking you if that's a deal-breaker."

Eli clears his throat, seeing he has overstepped his bounds. "No. It's not a deal-breaker. I can say that without even asking Janet -- she'd rip my head off for even assuming it might be, even more than you just have."

"Good. I knew we had a lot in common," Diane says, recrossing her legs and taking a more amicable tone now that they have gotten at least that much straight. She notices Kurt watching her with a mixture of pride and admiration -- he has always loved watching her get into a fight and win.

She is just about to ask Eli if he has any other concerns before they proceed, when she looks up to see Laura, knocking at her door but not waiting for a response before walking right in. If her assistant had tried to tell her that Diane was in the middle of an important meeting, she knows Laura would have completely ignored her, too.

"Diane, I have a quick question for you about the -- Oh!" She stops dead in her tracks when she notices first Eli, then Kurt, her mind obviously racing for an explanation.

“Laura,” she says, speaking quickly before the younger woman can get a word out. “I’m in the middle of something here; can I find you later?” She sits up straighter in her chair and folds her hands on the table in front of her in an attempt to make this appear more like a professional meeting. If her efforts are somewhat undercut by Kurt’s casual dress and sprawling style of occupying a chair, well, there’s nothing to be done about that. Eli, at least, looks professional, if slightly annoyed at the interruption.

“Sure,” Laura agrees readily, but she’s not looking at Diane. “Hello Kurt,” she says, eyes narrowed and arms folded over her chest. “Long time no see.” Her implication is clear:  _ not long enough_.

“Laura.” He says only her name, but meets her hostile gaze steadily, not rising to the bait. Diane almost laughs out loud at the thought of Laura, the exact opposite of patient, trying to outstare the master of the stony silence. Not going to happen. She almost feels sorry for her.

Laura quickly realizes she’s out-matched, at least at this game, and turns to Eli. There is no reason Diane can think of that Laura would know who he is. He hasn’t been to the office in two years, and Laura, not being from Illinois, would have no reason to recognize the infamous Governor Florrick’s former chief-of-staff. Stevenson’s term has been much quieter, so he’s been out of the news for some time now.

“Laura Dennis,” she says, holding out her hand. “I’m Diane’s partner.”

Eli glances at Diane, as he stands to shake her hand. “Eli Gold,” he says, without elaborating.

“Eli is an old friend,” she says, feeling as though she’s lying, though technically he is exactly that.

“Yes,” Eli confirms, correctly intuiting that Diane’s partners have not yet been informed of his offer. “A friend. In fact, I used to work here, oh about a million years ago.” He retakes his seat.

“Oh? You’re a lawyer?”

“Good god, no.”

“Anyway,” Diane interrupts, glaring at Laura who clearly suspects something, though her imaginings are likely to be wildly off-base. “We’ll be done here shortly, and I’ll come see you then.”

The two women’s eyes meet, and Diane arches one eyebrow.  _ You’re pressing your luck, little girl. _

Laura’s lips quirk in response, but apparently she decides to let it go for now. “Sorry for interrupting,” she says, nodding to the two men. “Diane, it’s important we talk, okay?”

She’s right about that, Diane knows. She needs to talk to all of them -- and soon, before the news begins to leak out. It always does.

“You haven’t talked to your partners yet,” Eli says as she retakes her seat after Laura is gone. It’s not a question.

“No,” she confirms anyway. “But it won’t be a problem. Everything is much more… amicable here than it used to be.”

“That didn’t seem very amicable,” Eli points out.

“ _That _ was personal,” Diane says.

“About me,” Kurt adds. “Not you.”

Diane looks over at him, concerned that he’ll take this personally, but he doesn’t seem to have done so. He knows just as well as she does that when it comes down to it, Laura is no different than Debbie. She’s just protective of someone she loves; there is no malice in her disapproval. Laura, Debbie, the other people who care about their well-being are not the ones they need to worry about. Time, and their obvious happiness, will bring them around. It’s the wider world that could cause real damage, if they let it.

Eli nods, the topic clearly not one he wants to touch. “You’re going to tell them soon though, right? Your partners? We need to get on this, Diane. You’re already behind in campaigning and every minute you delay is a voter you won’t reach. You needed to announce yesterday.”

“I’ll tell them today,” she promises. “We’ll have my exit package negotiated by the end of the week. Then we can announce.”

“Fine,” Eli says, standing up. “I can work with that.” He extends his arm across the table to Diane. “Congratulations, Your Honour.”

She can’t quite control the smile that appears on her lips as he shakes her hand. It feels like she’s been waiting her entire life to be addressed that way, and while it’s still premature, the dream is finally within reach.

“I’ll be in touch,” Eli promises with a sharp nod. He strides quickly to the door, but slows when he reaches it, then stops. After a second, he turns back to face them, hand on the doorknob.

“Look, I’m with you. In an ideal world, your personal life would stay personal. But this world is far from that, and I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t make absolutely certain you know what you’re getting into.” He’s not looking at Diane now, but addressing his words to Kurt. “Her name is out there. The media  _ will _ go after her. You have to be prepared for that. Both of you.” Without waiting for a response, he pulls open the door and exits, closing the door behind him.

Diane sighs as she watches him walk past her assistant and disappear out of sight. Of course it had already occurred to her that the press will drag Holly into the campaign. They probably won’t even have to drag her; she’ll insert herself quite willingly. It will be messy, and unpleasant, and infuriating, but she will be damned if she lets that woman take this from her.

Turning around, she finds Kurt bent over in his chair, elbows resting on his knees, staring blankly at the floor.

“Kurt?” she prompts carefully. “What are you thinking?”

He straightens up in his seat, hand rising to rub the back of his neck. “Maybe he’s right,” he suggests.

“Right about what?” She takes a couple of steps closer to him.

He reaches out a hand to her. “Maybe we should think about cooling it for a few months. Not forever,” he hastens to add. “Just until after the election.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head firmly. “Absolutely not. I won’t hear of it.” Reaching his side, she grasps his offered hand and pulls until he stands up, then wraps her arms around his waist, unmindful of the fact that anyone could be watching through the glass walls, and Laura, at least, probably was.

‘”Diane,” he sighs in frustration. “I don’t want you to have to go through all that. Maybe it's worth keeping this quiet between us, to avoid letting them drag us through the mud.”

“No,” she says again, reaching up and placing a hand on his cheek, moving his head until he’s forced to look her in the eye. “Nothing and no one on this planet is worth being apart from you again for any length of time.”

His arms have come around to embrace her as well, and now his head dips to softly kiss her lips. “Okay,” he says when he straightens up again. “If you’re sure you don’t want me to stay away, then maybe we  _ should  _ talk about getting married.”

"Kurt." She shakes her head, bemused. "I am not going to allow Eli Gold to dictate the course of our lives."

Almost immediately she regrets her words, although she isn't certain what she has said wrong. She only sees how his face falls as he looks away, feels his arms drop from around her waist, misses his warmth as he slowly steps away.

"Okay," he says only, but the only thing that is immediately clear to her is that it is not altogether okay.

"Kurt, no, I just mean..." She steps forward to close the distance between them again, her hand on his arm. "I don't want it to be about this. I'm not closed off from the idea."

"I get it, Diane, honestly." He manages a small smile to underscore his words, but somehow she still doesn't entirely believe it. "Anyway, that went well, all things considered. I'm glad."

"Yes, me too." She eyes him carefully, trying to decide what to say, whether to probe deeper or let this one go.

Before she can make up her mind one way or another, he takes another slow step toward the door. "I should be getting back."

She resists the urge to cajole him into staying just a while longer. Greedily, she wants him near her always, and now she cannot shake the feeling that something has happened she must understand and put right before she lets him walk out that door. But she knows he must be exhausted; she hates to think of him getting home any later than he already will. And she has work she can't ignore. It's time for her to start tying up loose ends, and she wouldn't dream of putting him through the conversation she must have with her partners.

Reluctantly, she says, "All right. Call me when you get back?"

"Of course." He leans over to give her a quick peck before turning toward the door.

"Kurt," she calls out, stopping him in his tracks. "Are we okay?"

He looks back at her, his brows knit in confusion, letting out a short little laugh. "Why wouldn't we be?"

"What Eli said..."

"I thought we were going to ignore Eli," he says lightly, walking back over to her and letting his hands come to rest on her hips. "We're more than okay. I'd say we're excellent."

She smiles and lets out a little humming noise as she allows him to pull her closer and into a kiss, a proper, thorough goodbye kiss that will leave her missing him painfully.

"Why don't you come up to the farm this weekend?" he murmurs, when he finally pulls away.

"Don't you think Debbie needs some peace and quiet before she checks in?"

"I think what Debbie needs is not to be coddled anymore. And what I need," he adds, giving her a playful squeeze, "is you."

She laughs, swatting his chest playfully. "So back to going mad trying to keep my hands off you all night, huh?"

"My place is bigger than hers, and the guest room is downstairs," he says, his voice dropping low. "And as long as you aren't as loud as you have been the last couple times..."

"Kurt!" She shoves him this time, still laughing and shaking her head. "Get out of here."

"All right. We'll figure out the details," he says moving toward the door again. "See you soon."

She watches him go, smiling with unconcealed affection. If anyone has witnessed their lovesick display, she doesn't care. Let them think what they like. They are her past, and there goes her future.

_ Soon.  _ At least they will always have a 'soon' to look forward to now, a day or two apart rather than interminable weeks. And in the not too distant future, they won't have to say goodbye at all.

She walks back toward her desk and sits, turning to her computer, as if simply busying her mind could stop her from missing him. She opens a new calendar invite, consulting her partners' schedules. Lucca is blocked off until late in the afternoon, back in court. Monica is spending most of the day mentoring first-years, but she supposes she could pull rank and schedule over that, much as she hates to. Well, if Lucca's case settles early as she expected it to, and she calls Laura out on slipping away on Wednesday afternoons for hot yoga class, she could probably...

The tedium of adjusting the calendar invite from one half hour to the next is not enough to keep her thoughts from wandering: back to his goodbye kiss, back to the clean familiar scent of him, back -- where she really wishes she could be -- to the warmth of his arms in her bed that morning. She indulges herself, closing her eyes for just a moment. She can almost feel his breath on her skin, still ragged but slowing, pulling her close against him, his fingers running lazily over hers.

_ It was your idea before it was Eli's_, some chiding voice in the back of her head reminds her, bringing her suddenly back to the present. She had looked at her own naked finger and wondered about marriage.  _ Yes, but that was afterglow_, she laughs back at the voice, trying to put things into proper perspective.

The subject would have come up naturally sooner or later, if they continue on the path they are on. But later, surely later would be better. Between the election, his sister, their own new beginning -- there was no reason to put any unnecessary pressure on themselves. They are happy just as they are.

She stares blankly at the space where he had been, smiling back at her just a few minutes ago. This isn't quite the right moment for the question now. They will know it when it comes, she trusts. Until then, she will just have to put it on a shelf.

Resolved, she turns back to her message, selecting the first convenient time for her.

_ Please meet me in my office at 3:00. Need to discuss an urgent matter that impacts all of us.  _


	22. Chapter 22

"I can't believe this is happening," Laura repeats for perhaps the third time since she returned to Diane’s office shortly after their partners’ meeting ended.

"You will," Diane says again, not looking up from the papers she’s reading as Laura sits in the chair opposite and stares at her. She feels for the young woman; this was not what she thought she was signing up for when she moved to Chicago to be part of the firm, but it will all work out. "Look at it as an opportunity,” she advises, more gently. “The three of you are young, modern, dynamic. Just think of what you can create together without a dinosaur like me holding you back."

This is the tack she's decided to take with her partners, and it seems to have worked well enough with Monica and Lucca. They had been cautiously optimistic by the time they left Diane's office. Laura was less so.

"Yes, you said that before," Laura sighs. "But how many clients are we going to lose when you're not here anymore? Some of them have been with you for decades."

"I'll reach out to as many as I can before I leave," she says. "You'll be fine." Really, it’s up to them whether they're fine or they're not, but she can't concern herself with that just now. She has a meeting with their accountant soon to get the number crunching started and she needs to finish reviewing the latest financials.

Laura sighs dramatically and slouches down in her seat. "Well, I suppose this will give you more time with _him_ ," she points out dismally.

Diane pauses in her reading and looks up at the other woman over the rims of her glasses. "This has been a dream of mine for a long time; you know that," she says, trying to control the edge in her voice. "It has nothing to do with Kurt. I would be leaving even if he had I had never reconnected."

Laura at least has the good sense to look abashed. "Sorry. I do know that. And I am happy for you. Really. It seems like everything is coming together for you."

Diane allows herself a small grin. "It does, doesn't it? I'm almost afraid to say it out loud in case someone is listening, just waiting to knock me down a peg."

Laura laughs. "Discretion that way is always wise. So I suppose I should tell John not to bother calling you again then, huh? He tells me you haven't returned any of his calls."

She stops reading and pulls off her glasses thoughtfully. Now that Laura mentions it, she does vaguely recall skipping over a message from Laura’s boyfriend’s father when she was in Missouri, thinking she would return the call when she got home. She had forgotten all about it. Had there been more than one? Now she feels badly about it; she wasn’t interested in the man, but he had been a potential client, and in any case, there is no excuse for being rude.

“I’m sorry, Laura. Some things have gotten away from me, lately. I’ll call him; I will. I’ll see if I can set up a meeting to discuss his legal needs sometime before I leave.”

Laura just shakes her head, smirking. “Don’t bother. Those weren’t the needs he was looking for you to take care of. I’ll tell him you’re sorry, but you’re spoken for. Then I’ll pitch him myself.”

Diane snorts. If that’s the case, she feels less badly now. “Okay, fair enough.”

Laura straightens up and glances at her watch. “What time is the accountant coming?”

“Any minute now. Do you want to sit in?”

“Ugh, no.” She stands up quickly. “Monica’s better at the financial side of things. I’m supposed to send her in when you’re ready.”

“Tell her I’ll buzz her when he gets here.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Laura tosses off a mock salute and moves toward the door. “Hey Diane?” she asks when she’s a couple of steps away.

Diane looks up from her screen. “Hmm?”

“You are happy, right? He’s the one you want?”

She smiles. “He’s the one I love.”

***

She finally gets home just after 9:00 that night after a long meeting with Monica and the accountant and then a more casual partners’ meeting at their bar to discuss things without the constraints of professionalism. The difference between this exit and the last, that negotiation, if you could call it that, with Will and David, is night and day. Women supporting women, just like she always wanted, and the support isn’t suddenly drying up because she’s doing something that’s right for her. She’s so grateful to have these women in her life.

Financially, the bottom line was about what she suspected. The firm isn’t worth what it once was, but even so, she’s going to have to take a loss in order to make it easier for her young partners to buy her out. She’s fortunate to be in a position that her equity doesn’t represent her entire life’s savings. But in any case, it doesn’t appear there will be much bickering, though they are all taking the rest of the week to think about it before finalizing on Monday.

As she was about to leave the bar, Lucca had pulled her aside. She was expecting some kind of inappropriate warning about her personal life, but the younger woman surprised her. “I heard,” she said simply with a light squeeze of her arm. “And I’m glad.” Nothing else really needed to be said.

Kurt had called when he arrived home, but the call was quick; the poor man was exhausted. It will be so good to be living in the same state again soon.

Now, she sheds her coat and shoes in the entryway and beelines to the kitchen for a glass of wine to accompany her bedtime reading. Walking through the dark room without turning on the light, she heads straight for the refrigerator and the open bottle of Chardonnay she knows is inside.

Pulling out the bottle, she turns away, letting the fridge door drift closed on its own, the light it casts through the room getting narrower and narrower as she crosses to the cupboard for a glass.

An odd shape on the breakfast bar catches her eye, a glimpse of colour half seen in the disappearing light.

Frowning, she flicks on the light above the sink, then gasps in delighted surprise.

A large vase of colourful summer flowers, pinks and purples and yellows, stands on the middle of her breakfast bar. She crosses the room and inhales the sweet floral scent before pulling the card from the holder. There’s no doubt who they’re from; he must have come back here after he left her at the office. Removing the card from the envelope, she reads:

_You’re still my hero._

***

It has been over two years now since Diane followed this route to Kurt's farm, but she remembers every curve of the road, every stretch of woods and every clearing. She could drive this route in her sleep -- and practically did, on many occasions -- but the feeling of it comes back to her now as strongly as the scenery. Even at midnight, even when she was dead tired from the week behind her, this girlish sense of anticipation and delight had always come over her, growing as she came nearer, seeing her through the last tedious part of the drive. Because then as now at the end of it, there he would be.

The last time she found herself on this road, she remembers with a sudden chill, was when she was working on _that_ case. The one that tore their lives apart -- or more accurately, forced her to face how they had done that very nicely themselves. She can so clearly picture that last breakfast they shared at his little kitchen table, being gentle with him because she thought she was the cause of his sullen, stricken mood. For a moment, she feels just as she did every time she reevaluated that moment in the two years since, confronting what a fool she had been not to see what was really going on behind his stony silence. Had not allowed herself to see, at any rate. Had not wanted to see.

She acknowledges the feeling, and sets it aside. She no longer needs to torment herself with it. They had drifted off course for a long time before they went their separate ways, but she is back on this road again now, and glad to be.

She is about twenty minutes away from his home when her phone rings, and she smiles as she looks over and sees it's him. "Hey -- I'm almost there," she answers.

"I was afraid of that," he responds wryly.

Her heart sinks as she fears the worst, hoping he's not calling to tell her that after all it's best for Debbie if she just did not come. "Oh no -- did something happen?"

"No, no, nothing bad," he says quickly, realizing how that sounded. "We went out to Kankakee to do some shooting -- you remember, I took you there a couple times?"

"I remember it well," Diane muses, thinking equally of the beautiful overlook they had reached after a long hike, and his arms around her as she took it all in.

"Yeah, Deb's a pretty good shot, too. She'd give you a run for your money."

She hears some muttered comment from the other woman that she can't quite make out, but she can easily imagine. She doubts the "Lady Di" persona Debbie has built up over the years permits the image of her holding a gun, let alone being quite skilled with one.

"Anyway," Kurt goes on, obviously ignoring whatever she has said, "we're still on our way back. Must be some accident ahead on 294, we've been sitting here forever."

"Oh, that's terrible."

"Well, problem is we're going to get there at least an hour after you." He sighs unhappily. "Sorry to leave you stranded."

"No, please, it's fine."

"Well, I feel bad -- hey, you don't still have your key, do you?"

She is about to say 'no' automatically -- it's been two years, they were divorced, of course she doesn't -- when suddenly she remembers. He had not asked for it, and she had never bothered to take it off the ring. "Actually, I do."

"Oh -- well good, then," he says, and she can hear the surprise in his voice, too. "Let yourself in. Hopefully we won't be too much longer."

"Okay. See you soon."

She disconnects the call and lets her phone drop to the passenger seat again, smiling to herself. She had managed, after a time, to take off her wedding ring, to remove the few photographs she had of him, to erase him from every conspicuous area of her life. But still every few weeks she would find traces of him here and there, stirring up all those feelings every time -- her rage, her sorrow, and worst of all, her love, very real and alive no matter how much she had wanted it gone. How she had never consciously noticed the key, which she must have seen and touched a dozen times a day, she does not know. Willful blindness, she supposes. Some part of her never wanted to let him go, and in fact never would have.

She is grateful for that resilient, stubborn streak in her, as she pulls up his long gravel drive. It had brought her every thing in her life that was worth having, and it had brought her, finally, back here.

It all looks exactly as it had been, almost eerily untouched. The same rusted, mismatched patio furniture she had always sworn she would replace for him but never did; the simple but well-kept yard; the beautiful willow tree shading most of the front lawn. She walks up to the door, her key in hand, and remembers by instinct the trick to jiggling the latch open. She opens the door cautiously, as if afraid something might jump out at her and attack. No monsters here; only memories.

Shaking it off, she steps inside, closing the door softly behind her. At first glance, nothing inside has changed much, either. Kurt had never been one for decorating, and whatever thoughts she once had along those lines had gone unfulfilled. She wishes now they had taken some time to integrate their living spaces, blur the lines of what was hers and what was his, but they really never had. Her place stayed her own, his place stayed his. It was easy enough to disentangle their lives; all that was required was boxing up the clothes they each kept at the other's home, the few personal effects, and wave goodbye.

She could almost cry, thinking about it now. Certainly that was one place they had gone so wrong before, and it spoke volumes about all of the other ways they had failed in their marriage. Perhaps it came down to this: they had never properly made room for one another.

She remembers that he had kept one photograph of her firing a gun on the mantel, taken slyly one day at a shooting range. She had feigned annoyance when she realized he was photographing her, but she was pleased and he was well aware of it. They both liked the way she looked with a gun. And he had another photograph of them on their wedding day, a rush job there at the courthouse, but she had always treasured that one, too. It was so clear how in love, how _happy_ , they both were on that day, and if they ever had reason to doubt it after that, that picture should have put any fears or dark imaginings soundly to rest.

Both photographs are missing now, and she grieves for their loss even as she tells herself _of course they were, just like yours are, packed away in a box buried at the back of the closet, out of sight, but not gone_. But in their place is the photograph she had given him recently, the one of him and Justice, and she stares at it fondly for long moments. All the rest of it will come back in time, she knows, surrounded by new memories, new signs of life and love. It will just take time.

It’s bittersweet, everything about this is, but she trusts in that absolutely. Still, little trusting herself alone in this house of memories for another hour, she moves toward the kitchen to busy herself with pulling together something for them to eat.


	23. Chapter 23

Kurt and Debbie arrive just as Diane finishes assembling sandwiches and slicing up some fruit for their lunch. “Hello!” she calls out when she hears the front door open. “I hope you’re hungry.” The door closes and animated voices echo from down the hall into the kitchen.

A few seconds pass and Kurt appears in the open archway. “Starving,” he says, coming up behind her and grasping her hips as he bends to taste her neck.

She laughs, tilting her head to give him better access. “I’m not on the menu.” Then, voice lowering, she adds, “At least not yet.”

He growls at that, arms sliding around her waist as he buries his face in the crook between her shoulder and neck, teeth nipping gently.

“Knock it off,” Debbie orders, appearing suddenly beside them to examine the food. “I’ll be gone soon enough and then you can do it in every room of the house if you want, but I don’t want to see it.” She grabs a plate and deposits a ham sandwich on it, along with a handful of grapes, and leaves the room again.

Diane snorts in laughter as Kurt backs up a couple of steps. “Sorry,” he says.

“No, no, don’t apologize. I wouldn’t want to watch us either. How’s she doing?”

He bobs his head up and down as he too chooses a sandwich and some fruit. “Okay, for her. I don’t think she’s taken anything recently. I wouldn’t have let her touch a gun if I had seen any signs of it. She sleeps a lot; slept all the way up here yesterday. Her mood swings can still get nasty though, so if she lays into you for anything, try not to take it personally.”

Diane goes over to the fridge and pulls out three cans of soda, passing one to Kurt. “Don’t worry. I can hold my own.”

He laughs. “I have no doubt about that.”

Picking up her own plate, she follows him into the living room where they find Debbie sitting on the couch with a book in one hand and her sandwich in another. Without comment, Diane sets a can of soda on the end table beside her, then joins Kurt at the small wooden table in front of the unlit fireplace.

“Thanks for the food,” he says, consuming a quarter of a sandwich in a single bite.

She shrugs. “It’s your food; I just put it into sandwich form. But you’re welcome.”

“How was the rest of your week?” he asks. “Big announcement coming soon?”

“Yes,” she says, excitement building in her stomach just thinking about it. “Looks like Tuesday. I was going to talk you about that actually. I’d love it if you could be there, at the announcement.” Mentally crossing her fingers, she takes a drink of her soda.

“You sure you want me there? I know we assumed the press would pick up on us eventually, but do you think it’s a good idea to shove it in their faces?”

She cringes slightly at his phrasing, but she takes his point. Perhaps if they don’t point out the potential clickbait in their relationship, no one will care enough to look for it. It’s not as though judicial races are typically high drama.

It may be a valid point, but it’s not one she’s prepared to concede. “Well, begin as you mean to go on, my father always said,” she says with a shrug. “You’re my partner, Kurt. I want you involved every step of the way.” She pauses, watching his expressionless face carefully. “That is, if you want to be. I understand this is going to be difficult for you, too.”

He shakes his head. “I want whatever you want.” 

Impulsively, she leans forward and presses her lips to his, at the same time sliding her hand up his thigh under the table. The movement is so familiar, ingrained from years of doing exactly that as they sat at this table eating and drinking and debating whatever topic they’ve chosen as a sort of verbal foreplay at that particular moment.

He returns her kiss with a passion that suggests his thoughts have taken him on a similar journey, leaning in as closely as the table will allow, his hand finding her arm, fingers trailing up and down as their lips move.

“Ahem!” Debbie clears her throat obnoxiously and they fly apart like teenagers caught by a bratty younger sibling likely to yell for a parent at any moment. “Jesus Christ, if this is what this weekend is going to be like, you’re going to need to point me in the direction of the nearest bar because I’m going to need some help unseeing all of this.”

“Sorry,” Diane says, sitting back in her seat and picking up her sandwich. She supresses a giggle when Kurt winks at her, but it’s a near thing.

The two of them leave Debbie in the living room with her book after lunch and go outside for a walk around the farm. It’s a beautiful day, hot but not oppressively so, a light breeze that playing with the ends of her hair as she walks.

“I’ve missed it out here,” she comments as they pass by the barns and venture into the pasture, following the tree line.

He takes her hand and squeezes. “I’ve missed having you here.” From anyone else it would sound trite, but coming from him, knowing how much he thrives on solitude, it means a lot. While she had never really thought of this place as her home, she understands now that she can, and that probably she always should have.

“Kept up with your shooting at all?” he asks as they pass the small range he has set up at the edge of the pasture.

She shakes her head. The hobby had been so tied up in her marriage, in her love and attraction for him, in the entire story of  _ them_, that she knew she would never have been able to shoot a gun without thinking about him. For a long time, that was enough to kill any interest she may have had in staying in practice. And afterwards, when the worst of the pain and anger had faded, she knew her skills would have deteriorated to the point she’d need instruction, and going to another teacher was just unthinkable.

But she doesn’t tell him any of that, simply admits she is probably hopelessly rusty, knowing he’ll appreciate the challenge of retraining her. The grin he gives her leaves her shivering in anticipation.

"Want to shoot a couple rounds now?" he asks, the smile on his face looking more and more like a dare.

"No," she says, hearing only as it comes out of her mouth how petulant and flirtatious that one word sounds. Somehow she always gets this way when Kurt and a gun are involved.

"You afraid?" he taunts her further.

"Not of the gun," she says, smiling back at him now, drifting closer and then pulling away, teasing him. It was a wonder she ever learned to shoot at all, the way it served as an aphrodisiac to them both.

"I didn't know I was so irresistible," he smirks.

"Yes you did," she laughs, but turns away and walks on, closing the question.

"Next time," he persists, quickly closing the few steps between them, slipping his hand into hers, "we'll bring a couple guns out here, and I'll check out your technique."

She lets her shoulder knock against his in playful reproach. "Yes, when your sister isn't on guard," she agrees, hoping her tone doesn't give away more than a hint of her annoyance.

If it does, he seems to share it. "She never did well having happy people around when she was miserable. That's what taught Joe to be so quiet."

She looks over at him, gauging the change in his mood and giving his hand a squeeze. "She's had a hard time of it."

"Yeah," he says only. He can't go on indulging her self-destructiveness and her constant simmering rage, but he loves her. There isn't much more to be said.

They walk along in a companionable silence for a long while, her mind a blank for a change, content just to be here, with him. He seems to feel the same, and only with some reluctance, as their path leads them naturally back to the house, does he say, "Would you mind if I cut the front lawn? It's supposed to rain the next few days, and it's getting a little high since I've been away."

"Of course not," she says. She came out here for a relaxing weekend; she doesn't need to be entertained in any particular way. Well -- at least not until later. With a little smile, she adds, "I can keep your sister company."

"I'm sure she'll love that," he replies, grimacing.

When they walk around to the front of the property they find Debbie has moved to a lawn chair, book still in hand, can of soda on the grass at her feet. She doesn't look up as they approach, although they can hardly be missed. Diane flashes him a bemused smile.

"Deb, I'm gonna mow the lawn real quick," he calls out, giving Diane a peck on the cheek, perhaps more noisily than necessary, and that, she assumes, is for his sister's benefit. Debbie gives a little grunting noise of acknowledgement, but still refuses to look up, missing Diane playfully shoving him away.

She takes a seat opposite her as Kurt walks off toward the garage. "Must be a good book," she ventures, eliciting only another vague grunt.

Giving up, and not much caring for these games anyway, Diane relaxes back in her chair and turns her attention to Kurt. She watches him wheel the ancient, rusted lawnmower out, taking several pulls of the cord to get the thing started. He swears as the motor sputters and dies, and she hides her amusement behind her hand, enjoying the sight of his muscles moving as he pulls more violently each time. Finally the machine comes to life, drowning out his last triumphant curse as he wheels it toward the grass.

She glances back to Debbie, quietly studying her. Her silence is deafening and deliberate, childishly so, and Diane struggles to put herself in her shoes. She understands what the other woman has been through and can certainly sympathize; she admires the way she seems to be prepared to finally face and conquer the demon of addiction that has plagued her. But this inexhaustible anger, this bottomless well of resentment she seems to go to time and again, as if it brings her more strength than hope or trust ever could... that Diane just can't understand.

But it isn't her place to understand, she knows. She isn't here to save her or even to befriend her; she is here for Kurt's sake, and she will do her very best, as far as that goes. She props her head up on her fist, her elbow resting on the arm of the chair, turning her attention back to him. Her sister-in-law's quiet hostility cannot take away from the simple pleasure of this moment, lazily bathing in the sun as she watches him work up a sweat. He stops periodically to wipe his brow, his arms glistening, his calves flexing as he pushes the mower forward. She recrosses her legs, vaguely aware she is biting her lip.

"Is that all it is with you two?" Debbie's hard words shock her out of her reverie, suddenly finding her voice. "Because  _ that  _ I can understand."

"Excuse me?" Diane turns to her, immediately on edge.

"That's all I see from where I sit. And suddenly it all makes sense." Her smile twists into something more like a snarl.

Diane feels her blood boiling, but she refuses to rise to the bait. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, please," she spits. "He told me everything, after the divorce. You think there's anything I don't know? He said he felt like you were only ever using him for sex. And now I guess that's what you're doing again."

Diane winces, turning away. She has no way of knowing if Kurt ever said any such thing, if he ever believed any such thing, or if this was just Debbie lashing out in any way she could. But the blow still hits home.

"I love your brother, more than you know," Diane says fiercely, wishing that could put an end to it, and little hoping that it will.

"That's right, bitter old Debbie, doesn't know a thing about love!" she crows, and if this is her clean and sober, Diane can't imagine the tirade she could put on under the influence. "Fuck you."

Diane's eyes go wide, not believing what she is hearing. She tries to keep her voice calm and controlled, although she is shaking with rage herself now. "Honestly, I don't understand you, Debbie. What have I done to make you hate me so much?"

"I don't hate you. I feel sorry for you." Debbie looks at her for a long moment, her eyes narrowed to slits. "I lost my husband. But you just threw yours away."

Diane feels tears stinging at her eyes, but she forces them back, not wanting to give the other woman the satisfaction. She is struck by the weight of all Debbie has lost, all she herself has lost, but she cannot for a moment join her in despairing over it as if the future could never match the past. That is where they are different, she realizes suddenly: Debbie has lost, and she never wants to be happy again. She has lost, too, but she won't stop trying to reclaim and repair it. Not for anything.

"And now you're going to do it all again, aren't you?" Debbie continues, on a roll. "Lady Di, Supreme Court Justice, that has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? That's all you've ever cared about. You'll get what you want and you'll leave him in the dust just like the last time."

Diane knows Debbie is speaking out of a place of pain, propelled by a wound she has never allowed to heal. She is torn between ending this, as simply and directly as possible, and speaking the truth, now that she understands it. But she finds she cannot avoid the latter, now that she is committed to it. Not even if it will fall on deaf ears.

"I know you would give anything for another chance, Debbie. Kurt and I have that chance, don't you see? Believe me, I know how precious--"

Debbie stands before Diane can complete her sentence, knocking over her soda can and little caring about it or any other petty destruction it is in her power to cause. She takes two steps forward and leers toward Diane, repeating, "FUCK you."

Diane is left reeling, speechless, as she watches her stalk back to the house.


	24. Chapter 24

So stunned is she by the other woman’s words, that Diane doesn’t even register the cessation of the roar of the lawnmower until Kurt appears in front of her, his face a storm cloud, dangerous and dark.

“What the hell was that all about?” he demands, hands on his hips. There is sweat pouring down his face and neck, soaking into his t-shirt and his voice rasps around his heavy inhalations.

“Nothing,” she says, leaning forward in her seat, hand reaching for him, but falling just short. She’s relieved her words emerge far steadier than she feels. “It’s fine.” The last thing she wants is to become a bone of contention between brother and sister. Not now, when Debbie still needs so much of his support.

“It’s not fine,” he insists, taking a step closer. “This is my house and you are my…” he falters for a second, stuck on the noun, then skips it altogether. “She has no right to yell at you. Not here.” The words _in your own home_ go unspoken, but are still heard by them both.

He’s within her reach now, so she grasps his hand, pulling until he turns away from the house and collapses into the chair beside her. “What did you hear?” she asks him.

“Nothing. I looked up to see her yelling in your face, but by the time I stopped the engine she was gone. What did she say?”

Her first impulse is to blow it off, to chalk up Debbie’s venomous words as the rantings of a deeply unhappy woman hell-bent on making everyone around her as unhappy as she is. She doesn’t need Kurt to reassure her that Debbie knows nothing about how their relationship works.

But that’s not what they’re supposed to be doing now, is it? She stares at him, fighting her instinct to sidestep a potentially difficult subject. He looks back, face giving away nothing, just waiting for her to speak.

She blinks, capitulating. “Debbie seems to think that all there is between us, all there has ever been between us, is sex. I know, she’s just lashing out, and I’m not taking it personally, but…” Her voice trails off, unsure how to ask the question she needs answered.

His breathing has evened out some since sitting down, but now he inhales deeply, pushing his hands through his damp hair, leaving it sticking up at odd angles. “But how did she happen to land on that particular stone to throw?” he suggests.

“Well…yes.”

He curses under his breath then, and wipes his brow with the hem of his t-shirt, revealing a wide swath of bare skin, shiny with sweat. Even in the midst of such a serious conversation her eyes are immediately drawn to it, her mouth going dry. In her mind’s eye, she sees herself falling to her knees in front of him, licking the exposed skin. She can taste the salt of his sweat on her tongue.

“I think she got it from me,” he confesses, tugging his shirt back into place, oblivious to her wandering mind. “I told you I spent some time down at Deb’s after the divorce.”

She pulls her attention back to their conversation. “Yes.”

He looks away for a few seconds, staring out over the lawn. She knows this is difficult for him, to talk about feelings, but especially to imply he had any right to be in pain from their divorce.

“I was in pretty rough shape for a while,” he says at last. “Depressed, angry. Angry at myself mostly, but at times things got mixed up in my head and I was angry at you, too. For not wanting to work things out, for not preventing me from doing what I did. Which is ludicrous, but somehow in the middle of that mess it made sense. Debbie was there the whole time, listening to me vent my anger, and I guess she got some wrong ideas. I’ve talked to her since then, but…” He shrugs helplessly. “She’s protective of me. And she’d never seen me like that before, so she blames you for it.”

Diane’s heart aches at the thought of him in so much pain, of the memory of her being in the same pain at the same time, the two of them separated by what seemed like an impossible distance.

“Eventually,” he continues, “she talked me into seeing someone, turned my own words against me – ‘You’re always saying I should see a shrink. Why the hell should I when you won’t yourself.’ And she was right. I went a few times, got stuff straightened out in the noggin, eventually was able to think clearly again, and remember everything that was good about us. And it was a lot more than just sex.” He smiles. “Though that was pretty good too.”

“I do love having sex with you,” she tells him, smiling back.

He laughs. “I know.”

“But that’s never been all this is to me. It was just the part that was easier to deal with, when I didn’t know what to do with my own feelings – feelings of love or worry, frustration, or whatever. But I’m trying not to do that anymore.”

“I know that too. I always have, Diane, no matter what I may have said to Deb back then, or what lies I might have told myself to justify my actions. And you can believe I will be making sure she understands that I wasn’t thinking clearly then. I was lashing out at you because I was angry at myself.”

She stands up then and walks the two steps to stand in front of his chair. Carefully, alert to any protests from the chair, she lowers herself into his lap, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, as his come around her waist. She bends her head to softly kiss his cheek, salty from sweat, and then his lips, less gently, but still carefully, not trusting the old chair to hold them through anything more exuberant.

“I don’t think my being here right now is such a good idea,” she says, standing up again and pulling him up with her. “I’m going to go home now. She doesn’t need the extra stress I’m creating.”

“What? No, Diane,” he protests, as she knew he would. “This is my home and I want you here. It isn’t her decision. She’s just going to have to accept that we’re together, and she if she wants to continue to have a relationship with me, she is going to start treating you with respect.”

She smiles, appreciating his support, but now isn’t the time for it. “I understand that, Kurt, and I agree things have to change, but there will be plenty of time for that after she’s completed her program. We don’t need to force me on her now when she’s got less than two days before rehab.”

He doesn’t like it, she can tell from the set of his jaw, but he’ll concede. He knows it’s the right thing to do.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“I want to stay,” she says. “But I can’t.”

He nods, understanding. “Okay. I’ll come down Monday after I check her in and stay over so I’ll be there for your big announcement on Tuesday.”

She smiles. “Good.”

“You want me to get your stuff for you?”

She laughs. “Oh no. She’ll not be getting the satisfaction of watching me sneak off. I’ll say my goodbyes.”

Kurt laughs, and puts an arm around her as they walk over to the house.

Inside, they find Debbie has calmed down enough to return to her book, or at least to pretend to. She refuses to look up again, and Kurt seems poised to angrily command her attention. With a glance, Diane communicates that she would rather he didn't, and gently takes a few steps out of his embrace and toward Debbie.

"I'm going to head back to the city now," she says coolly, certain that is enough to spur her interest, and she is right.

Debbie looks up, suddenly smug, but she adopts a joking tone, well aware of Kurt's displeased expression. "Don't tell me I scared you away."

"I won't," Diane responds, squaring her shoulders. "But it's best if I go. I don't want to add to your stress level now."

Her little smile turns quickly into a sneer, forgetting to keep her tongue in check even for Kurt's benefit. "If you think for one moment I--"

"Deb, for god's sake--" Kurt begins, advancing as soon as her tone turns nasty. But Diane remains calm, stilling him with a light hand on his arm. This can't work if he is forever playing referee between them.

"I think we got off on the wrong foot, Debbie. Before, and this time around. I'd like to try again, the next time we see each other."

Apparently equally uninterested in Diane's offer and in continuing fighting, Debbie merely shrugs and turns back to her book.

Having said what she needed to, Diane turns to collect her bag from the out-of-the-way corner where she had left it. She is grateful now she hadn't bothered to unpack anything -- and that she had not been hopeful enough to take it directly to Kurt's bedroom. She allows herself a wistful glance up the stairs at that thought, hating to leave not knowing when she will again see that last corner of his home where they had shared so many lovely memories.

Kurt, meanwhile, remains standing there, staring at his sister in disbelief, and Diane can't wave him off this time. "Are you serious, Debbie? You have nothing to say?"

"No _point_ in saying what I have to say," she grumbles without looking up. "I know the score. And I know when I'm beat."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he challenges her, clearly struggling to keep his voice calm.

Debbie sets the book down, her temper flaring again, too. "She marches in here, martyring herself, says her pretty words, and leaves you thinking she's a _blessed angel_ , like always. Nothing I can do to make you see truth, so just keep me out of it. Those pretty words are for you, not me."

She knows he is about to lose his temper, and if Debbie is right about one thing, it's that it isn't worth it, not now, not like this. She gets in front of him, shouldering her bag. Letting the fingers of one hand rest briefly against his stomach, she says quietly, "I'm going to go now."

He sighs, letting it pass at least for now and follows her without protest as she heads for the door.

Once outside, he slips his arm around her again. "I can't stand to see her treat you like that. I promise you, it's not going to be like that forever. I'll make sure of it."

"I know," she says gently. "But give her a break this weekend."

"Yeah..." He trails off, clearly still considering giving her a piece of his mind after Diane goes. She bumps her shoulder against his pointedly, smiling, and forcing him to smile when he looks over at her. "Yeah. All right."

She pulls away from him just long enough to set her bag in the back seat and shuts the door, turning to face him and allowing him to back her up against the car, the mood between them instantly shifting to something much more pleasant.

"I really don't want you to go," he says, a growl creeping into his voice.

"Neither do I." She lets her gaze drop from his eyes to linger on his lips, then fall lower, fixating on his still sweat-dampened shirt. "But we were probably being selfish to think this was a good idea."

"I can't help being selfish when it comes to you." He draws her attention back up with a hand on her cheek, his thumb gently caressing her skin, slowly moving his fingers back to thread through her hair. He inclines her head toward him, but she hardly needs much encouragement to close what little distance there is between their lips. She leans slightly forward to kiss him, her hands grasping his hips and pulling him back against the car with her, knocking him slightly off balance. She giggles into his mouth as she deepens the kiss, enjoying the feeling of his weight against her, the quick response of his passion for her, even if it is a pale substitute for how they had both hoped the night would end.

He pulls back after a while, regarding her with a sideways smile. "Of all the things I need to set her straight on, high up on that list is the notion that I could ever see you as an _angel_."

She throws back her head in laughter. "I don't think she'd appreciate a lot of explanation there."

"Maybe not," he concedes, then shrugs as if it matters little whether that particular point is ever clarified, lowering his lips to kiss her neck. Lazily, between kisses, trailing a path up to her jaw, he adds, "Or maybe... I'd be better off... thinking that through... on my own... tonight."

He captures her mouth again, eliciting a little cry of need and frustration, the image of Kurt alone in bed with his cock in his hand suddenly flashing through her mind and driving her wild.

She pulls away from him, breathless, grinning. "Okay, I'm going to go before you make it any harder to."

He laughs and licks his lips, clearly enjoying her torment.

She holds his gaze for long moments, her face full of lust and love, seeing the same reflected back at her. "I should have known better than to come here, now. But I so wanted to see you. Now that you're in my life again -- I want you _in_ my life. As often as you possibly can be."

"That works out well, then. That's what I want, too."

She cuts off the reply on the tip of her tongue, her good sense catching up with her feelings quickly. She had almost wondered aloud: _How did we ever get off track?_ but in the next moment she silently answers her own question. The reminder doesn't hurt the way it did, she finds; it just is. Only weeks ago she had feared they would never get through an evening without the past catching up to them, casting a pall over everything. But it doesn't feel that way now at all.

She answers him instead with another kiss, shorter, sweeter, but just as wholehearted. The past existed, was a fact. But it did not change, certainly did not undermine or diminish, the way she feels now, here, in the present, with him. She does not know if he can feel the difference, and perhaps the next time they are together she will try to explain it, but for now she only knows she is somehow... _free_.

And for now, she really, really must go. "See you Monday, then," she murmurs against his lips, slowing her kisses to a stop.

He returns one last peck, then steps back. "See you Monday."

Reluctantly, she composes herself and lets her hands slowly slip away from him as they part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In light of today's announcement that Gary Cole will indeed be recurring on The Good Fight, we would like to take this opportunity to say that we have never been happier in our entire lives to have been wrong. Even if he cheated, even if their marriage is in a shambles, as long as Kurt is there, there's hope. And if it turns out neither of those things is true, we will be even more thrilled! That said, we hope you will continue to enjoy this hopefully VERY AU fic. :D


	25. Chapter 25

As Diane drives off, she picks up her cell phone, navigating to the Contacts menu while glancing back and forth at the road. She pauses, hovering over the call button, considering. If she makes the call, she is likely inviting all kinds of questions and commentary she neither needs nor wants to hear. On the other hand, she could use the distraction from missing Kurt, and from allowing herself to think about the announcement long enough to become anxious about it. This would be, if nothing else, a sure way to accomplish that. Finally deciding the company would be better than her own unhelpful mind, she dials.

"Hello?" Laura's voice answers after two rings, sounding genuinely confused by the call.

"Laura, hi," Diane greets her naturally, as if she could simply bypass any explanations as unnecessary.

"Diane? You said you were going out to the country -- didn't expect to hear from you all weekend." She can almost hear the gears turning in her goddaughter's brain, the vague hint of suspicion in her tone, already poised to blame whatever has changed that plan on Kurt.

Diane rolls her eyes, quickly trying to sidestep the subject. "I was -- I'll catch you up later. But I'm heading back home and was wondering if you were still free tomorrow."

"Your relaxing weekend didn't go as planned?" Laura asks, unable to resist getting in a word. But she quickly moves on, her voice teasing. "Well, all I was planning on doing was giving a little extra TLC to a couple of the temperamental clients _you_ are leaving behind."

Diane smiles, finding she doesn't feel a bit guilty or regretful about that. But still she offers, "Maybe I can help you with that."

"Nope. Nuh-uh. Forget work, I told you that when you left and it still stands. You needed a relaxing weekend, and by god a relaxing weekend is what you're going to get!"

Diane feels somewhat nervous about Laura's sudden enthusiasm, but she is nevertheless grateful. "Thanks, Laura."

"Leave it all to me," she says, and Diane can just picture her, grinning, scheming. "So I'll come by your place tomorrow. See you then!"

Before she can ask what time or for what purpose, the line goes dead, leaving Diane laughing to herself and wondering what she has just signed up for.  

***

“Where are we going?” Diane asks for the third time since Laura had arrived at her place fifteen minutes earlier and all but manhandled her into the car.

“You’ll see when we get there,” Laura insists, taking her eyes of the road just long enough to roll them in Diane’s direction. “Are you _always_ this impatient?”

She laughs, thinking about the resounding ‘yes’ Kurt would give to that question.

Something in her tone must give her thoughts away, because Laura vigorously shakes her head. “No, nevermind. Forget I asked,” she says. “I don’t think I want to know what that laugh means.”

“Probably not,” Diane agrees cheerfully. “So, are you going to tell me?”

“Fine, spoil the surprise,” Laura grumbles in faux-annoyance. “We’re having a spa day. You did say you wanted to relax this weekend, did you not?”

She had indeed told Laura she was going to the country to relax for the weekend before the announcement, but she had been hoping for a different type of relaxation altogether. The hands she wanted on her definitely did not belong to a Swedish masseuse. She’s sure Laura knows that very well, but it’s sweet of her to try, especially since Diane has so far not volunteered any information on why she’s here with Laura and not still in the country with Kurt.

She probably thinks they had an argument, or at least a setback of some sort. It’s an assumption she needs to correct before her goddaughter’s opinion of Kurt sinks any lower. She certainly doesn’t want her thinking he’s unsupportive of her career aspirations, or worse, that history has somehow repeated itself. She’s just not quite sure how to broach the subject without invading Debbie’s privacy.

Why she even cares, she couldn’t begin say. She certainly doesn’t owe Debbie an ounce of consideration after how the other woman has treated her. Maybe it’s an extension of her loyalty to Kurt, or maybe it’s just basic human empathy, but the idea of discussing her former sister-in-law’s problems with someone who doesn’t know or understand everything she’s been through is just not something she’s willing to do.

“I did, yes, thank you.” she says, finally splitting the difference and volunteering a vague version of the truth. “Turns out Kurt has some family obligations to attend to this weekend. I decided to give them some privacy so I’m grateful for your alternate relaxation plans.”

“So everything is still okay then?” Laura asks. “With him? You and him?”

“Yes,” she says without hesitation. “Everything is wonderful. Better than it ever was. We know now what we have to lose. _We_ …” she stresses at Laura’s sideways glance, “…won’t take that for granted again.”

Laura flicks on her blinker as she suddenly brakes and twists the wheel, easing into a lucky open parking spot. “Okay,” she says as she turns off the engine. “That’s good. I’m happy for you. Honestly,” she insists at Diane’s skeptical look. “I barely know the guy. You do, and if you believe that whole thing was somehow forgivable, then I trust you know the situation better than I do.” She releases her seatbelt. “Now, let’s go relax. I think we’ve earned it.”

***

If she was any more relaxed, she’d be falling asleep, Diane thinks later as Laura pulls the car up to her house. She’s freshly manicured and pedicured; her face is smooth and soft; and she feels so wonderfully loose-limbed and flexible and in touch with her body. Now all she needs is...well something she’s not getting tonight, but at least she only has one more night to wait.

“What are you smiling about?” Laura asks, sliding the car into park. “As if I couldn’t guess.”

For once she doesn’t bother measuring her words. What’s the point, anyway? She _is_ happy; there’s no reason to hide it. In two days’ time, the entire county will know. There will be those who judge her for her choices, but Laura isn’t one of them.

“He’s coming up tomorrow night and then going to the announcement with me,” she tells the other woman. “I just saw him yesterday, and already I miss him and can’t wait to see him again. It’s silly, but my god it’s a good feeling.”

Laura grins. “I really am happy you’re happy. And I’ll look forward to getting to know him better. Anyone who can put that look on your face must be pretty special.”

She returns her young friend’s grin. “He really is.” She unfastens her seatbelt and reaches for the door before sudden inspiration stops her. “Laura, are you coming to the announcement on Tuesday?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it. We’re all planning on going – Lucca, Monica, and me.”

“Wonderful. It only just occurred to me, maybe I should have a little reception that evening. Nothing big, just close friends, but you could bring Kevin, and Kurt will be here of course, and…”

“That’s a fabulous idea! I love it!” Laura interrupts. “I should have thought of it myself. Don’t give it another thought, Diane, I’ll put everything together and you can just show up, okay? It’ll be great!”

“Wait, what? No, I didn’t mean…” What has she done? Knowing Laura, her small, impromptu gathering is about to turn into a major event. Her stomach clenches a bit at the thought of how uncomfortable Kurt will be, surrounded by all her friends and associates, everyone whispering about them… Her just-massaged muscles are tensing up again already.

“Oh hush,” the younger woman insists. “Let me do this for you. Please?”

“Nothing big, Laura,” she warns. “I’m serious.”

“Got it. Just close friends and associates. I promise, okay. Stop looking so worried. It will be fun. Everyone is going to be thrilled for you – personally and professionally. Okay?”

She takes a deep breath, willing her muscles to relax again. Maybe it would be fine. “Okay,” she agrees.

****

Diane stares at her laptop, scowling as she deletes what she has written and starts over for at least the tenth time. She is trying to write out some notes for her announcement tomorrow, even some bullet points, but everything that comes out is either stiff and mundane or inspirational almost to the point of absurdity. She taps her foot in agitation, willing the right words to come.

When she hears the doorbell ring, she closes her laptop and leaps up immediately, as happy to have a reason to set it aside as to see Kurt standing on the other side of the door.

"God I'm glad to see you," she says, taking his face in both hands and kissing him soundly before he can say a word.

"Hello to you, too," he smirks back when she finally allows him to speak, his free arm coiling around her waist, the other one at his side, holding the takeout she had asked him to pick up for their dinner.

"What did you get?" she asks, snatching the plain white bag from his hand. She peeks inside and takes a long sniff. "Ohhh, Alesci's?"

"Their eggplant parmesan, your favorite."

She grins back at him as she leads the way to the kitchen. "You remembered."

She is reminded of old times, as she pulls out two plates and silverware, and for a moment it feels as if no time has passed at all. So many dinners consisted of late-night takeout, when they could find the time to eat together, catching each other up on their days -- or, all too often, their weeks -- while passing containers back and forth.

"So how did the rest of your weekend go?" she asks, portioning out the dishes.

"Good," he says, somewhat grudgingly. "A lot more calm."

"See, I was right."

"You were. But I missed you," he confesses, reaching out to trail his fingers down her arm.

She smiles over at him. "I missed you, too, Kurt."

He takes a couple steps closer, letting his hand slowly drift across her lower back. "I hope I won't give you the opportunity to miss me for a while," he says, gently moving her hair aside and burying his face in her neck.

She allows herself to enjoy his kisses for a long moment, her hands forgetting what they were doing. But she suddenly shakes him off and turns to face him, shoving a plate of food against his chest. "Then we'll have all the time in the world for that later," she smirks and heads toward the dining room, knowing he is watching her go.

They sit down to eat, close enough that their knees are almost touching under the table, though there is plenty of room to spread out.

"How did it go, when you dropped Debbie off?" Diane asks.

He shrugs, thinking it over for a minute. "She's determined. She's not happy about it, but I could tell, she's determined. I don't think I've seen that in her before."

"That's good. That might make all the difference."

"And it's close enough I can visit her as often as I did down there, so that helps. I think some part of her that isn't thinking very clearly is afraid I'm abandoning her for you."

Diane sighs. "Please tell me, won't you, if there's anything I can do or say to make her see I mean her no harm?"

"She'll get over it once she gets through this and sees how things really are. Or if she keeps this up she will lose me, but it won't be your doing."

"Kurt, I don't want to drive a wedge between you and your sister."

"It's not gonna come to that." He moves on quickly, evidently preferring not to dwell on this possibility. "How was the rest of your weekend?"

"Laura arranged a spa day for us -- it didn't quite make up for the weekend we had planned, but it was wonderfully relaxing."

"Spa day, huh?" he pulls a face. "Facials, pedicures, that kind of stuff?"

"And an hour-long massage," she practically purrs, her eyes drifting closed at the memory.

"Wow," he laughs. "Must have been some massage."

"It was probably the best massage I've ever had."

"I'm hurt!" he protests, a mocking tone to his voice.

"Why?"

"I thought I gave the best massages you ever had."

"Oh," she snickers, smiling at a flash of memory of his strong hands moving over her body. "You're in a category of your own, dear."

"That's what I thought," he says, grinning back at her smugly for a moment before letting it drop. "Nervous about tomorrow?"

"No, not nervous -- excited. Maybe too excited. I was trying to work on my statement before you arrived and I couldn't think straight."

"If you need some time to finish that tonight--" he starts to offer, but she dismisses the thought with a wave of her hand.

"It's just a five-minute thing, and it doesn't matter much. It will be buried on page 20 of the morning paper, won't even make the local news. I'll say what comes to mind."

He raises his eyebrows, clearly remembering harried nights of case prep, notecards scattered all over her office, the kitchen table, their bed. He knows all too well that she prefers to be prepared.

"I know, I know..." she laughs, understanding without his having to say anything. "But I guess I just feel... ready for this."

"I'm glad," he says, reaching over to take her hand. "I'm so glad this is finally happening for you. God knows you've earned it."

"Thank you," she says, touched, giving his hand a squeeze in return. It meant a lot to hear that from him.

"And you're sure you want me there?" he asks. She knows he is giving her an out, a chance to say she has thought better of it after all.

"I want you there. Every step of the way."

"Then I'll be there."

"Oh! I almost forgot." she exclaims suddenly, breaking the moment. "Now that you've blindly committed yourself to all that comes with this. Laura's planning a reception for me tomorrow night."

"A reception?" he repeats, unable to suppress the natural grimace at the thought.

"Just a small thing, a few close friends and associates -- well, it had better be a small thing, but knowing Laura..."

"Yeah, I'm starting to get the impression she doesn't do much of anything quietly."

"No, she doesn't." She laughs, shaking her head. She studies his reaction for long moments, understanding his hint of reticence. "It might be uncomfortable, but we're going to have to go through this sooner or later."

He sighs, moving his chair out to face him more directly, gesturing for her to put her feet up on his lap. She smiles and complies instantly, another of their old late-night routines so easily coming back. He takes one foot in his large hands, his thumbs starting to work on the ball of her foot. "Sooner or later, yeah, but with everyone you know all in one room?"

"It had better not be everyone I know," she laughs lightly, taking a moment to let out a little hum of appreciation for his efforts. "Let's look at it as ripping a bandage off, hmm? I don't want to prolong it. I also don't think we owe anyone an explanation. You're an important part of my life, that's all anyone needs to know. But I don't intend to keep it a secret, either."

"I'm not worried for me, you know. Whatever they think of me they're going to think of me, and I probably deserve it."

His mood is straightforward enough, not guilt-ridden, but still she frees her foot long enough to shove his knee in playful reproach. He smiles and simply takes up the other one.

"I'm just saying, if I'm concerned at all, it's for you," he continues. "I'm afraid you're underestimating how ugly this could get."

"Well, it's not going to get ugly tomorrow. Tomorrow, I want to celebrate, with everyone I love."

"All right," he relents, smiling back at her. "You've earned that."

"Thank you," she says with an air of finality, closing her eyes again and giving herself over to mindlessly enjoying his touch. He has made his way up to her calf now, bringing her foot to rest dangerously on his hipbone, his hands working over the muscles of her lower leg. She can't resist the urge to let her foot drift slowly lower, her heel pressing hard against him.

"Hey." He swats at her playfully, reaching down to reposition her foot again. "I'm taking care of you tonight."

"I don't think we've ever had any trouble 'taking care' of each other," she retorts, placing extra emphasis on his words.

"No. But I just can't seem to let go of the thought that you had the massage of your life yesterday. Kind of want to reassert my place at the top."

"Only right to give you a fair shot at it," she agrees.

"Then why don't I take care of this," he says, inclining his head toward the dirty dishes, "while you go slip under a sheet, and I will join you in ten minutes."

She pulls her feet out of his lap, moving to sit in his lap instead. She cups his face in her hands, lowering her head to kiss him. "Are you going to wear one of those white smocks?" she whispers when she comes up for air.

"What?" he laughs.

"I'm just saying, if you really want to get into this, you should look the part."

"I'm not going to wear a white smock," he says, pulling her toward him again.

"All right." She pulls away, standing and starting to move off in the direction of the bedroom. She calls back at him, "But Frank's starting off with one point up on you."


	26. Chapter 26

Warmly glowing candles dot the room, occasionally flickering in the light breeze drifting in from the open window on the other side of the room. Smoky jazz plays softly on the sound system as Diane removes her last article of clothing and exits the ensuite bathroom completely nude, carrying the bottle of baby oil she uses on her legs. Setting it on the nightstand, she pulls back the sheets and slides between them, rolling onto her stomach and resting her head on her folded arms.

Already her memory has conjured the feel of his strong, warm hands sliding up her back, smoothing away all the tension that has accumulated there since the last time they were together and replacing it with the heady combination of relaxation, anticipation, and lust.

She can hear him still puttering around in the kitchen, dishes clattering into the dishwasher, cabinets opening and closing, water running. She smiles. The man is a bit of a neat freak, but aside from that she wouldn’t put it past him to stall on purpose to prolong her agony.

Closing her eyes, she squeezes her thighs together tightly, setting off tiny pulses of desire, while at the same time vowing to somehow try and be patient. It’s always, always worth it when she lets him take the lead in moving from relaxing massage to foreplay to making love. His timing is exquisite, his ability to read her mind and body nothing short of prescient, and as much as she might want to rush things along, she won’t, even if it kills her.

A quick glance at the clock tells her she’s already waited the requested ten minutes, and, as if he had been timing it himself, she hears his footsteps approaching. Opening her eyes to half-mast she watches him enter the room with his overnight bag in hand and slowly approach the bed.

He reaches out and rests his hand firmly on her calf over the sheet, holding it there long enough for the heat of it to seep through to her skin, then trails it up her leg, over her ass and along her back until he reaches her head. Brushing her hair back, he leans over and kisses the nape of her neck. “Be right back,” he says lowly into her ear.

The bathroom door closes and the light shines out from under it, casting long shadows on the walls. After a moment the sound of tooth brushing reaches her ears. She smiles, again knowing this is half his own fastidiousness, half stalling to build anticipation. And it’s working. The brief touch of his hand on her body, the quick kiss to her neck has her squirming in place, craving his hands on her. She closes her eyes again, willing herself to relax, enjoy, and not get too far ahead of him.

At last the bathroom door reopens and when she finds him again in the dimly lit room, she discovers he’s changed out of his jeans and into a pair of soft cotton pajama bottoms. He’s shirtless, tan lines visible on his bare chest and arms from whatever work he had done after she left the farm on Saturday. She wishes she had been there to see it, see him sweating in the hot sun as he cut more of the lawn, or repaired sections of fence, or pulled weeds from the vegetable patch she helped him put in the first summer they were married.

She blinks, banishing fantasy Kurt and focussing on the real one now approaching her bed, a sexy half smiles playing at his lips, his hair slightly mussed from pulling off his shirt.

“Comfy?” he asks.

“Mmhmm,” she hums, wiggling a bit in place for emphasis.

He chuckles. “Good, because you’re going to be there for a while.” He sits down beside her and again brushes her hair away from her face and neck, then leans across her so one hand braces against the mattress next to her opposite shoulder. Bending forward, he brushes his lips against her ear. “Are you ready?”

She just sighs in response and thinks about nodding, though she doesn’t actually manage it, as his lips and mustache are still doing incredible things to the sensitive area behind her ear, stealing most of her focus. She feels him smile against her skin.

Without dislodging the sheet that covers her up to her shoulder blades, he maneuvers until he’s straddling her at her waist. Once in position, he leans forward again and scatters a few more kisses along each shoulder. “Frank do this too?” he asks gruffly.

She laughs low in her throat, “Well, no, I can’t say that he did. But I believe his goal was to relax me, whereas what you are doing is having quite the opposite effect.”

“Is that so?” he asks, continuing to kiss his way across her naked back, finally arriving at the spot where the sheet is just covering the side of her breast.

“Mmhmm,” she confirms.

“Well,” he says, pausing to dip his tongue under the sheet for one all too brief instant that has her inhaling sharply. “Let’s just say my ultimate goal is relaxation, but my methods will be a little more…interesting.”

With that, he straightens up and scoots forward a bit, his hands making their way into her hair. She adjusts her position so her forehead rests on her folded arms as he starts massaging her scalp like he’s shampooing her hair and she sighs with pleasure. He remembers what she likes, in this, as in all things.

Her eyes drift close of their own accord and her blood slows from the rapid throbbing in her veins to a more leisurely, heated glide from the top of her scalp, all the way down to the tips of her toes, warming every inch of her in between. Her body remembers this;  _ she _ remembers this, how his hands can alternately relax and excite, soothe and inflame, ask and give. Soon she won’t be thinking at all, just feeling, just being, here with him.

After some period of time she couldn’t begin to estimate, his hands slide out of her hair and he rises up on his knees and backs away. She whines drowsily at the loss of his weight, then quiets as he starts folding down the sheet covering her back.

“Shh,” he says. “Just getting this out of the way.” He stops folding when he’s exposed her naked back all the way down to the base of her spine, then runs his fingertips lightly up and down her sides.

Instantly, she’s wide awake again, breath catching in her throat as her nipples tighten against the sheet beneath her. She twists in place, trying to will his fingers to slide beneath her, but he just laughs and stops touching her entirely, leaning forward instead to reach for the bottle of baby oil. He flips open the cap and pours a bit into one cupped palm, then returns the bottle to the nightstand. “Ready?” he asks again, rubbing his hands together to coat them and warm the oil. Not trusting her voice, she nods against her arms.

Gently at first, he slides his hands up and down her bare back, his touch getting progressively firmer with each stroke. The heels of his hands press against the muscles on either side of her spine, while his thumbs dig into any small knots he encounters. Every third or fourth stroke goes wide, his fingertips dipping over the edge of her back and sliding along the sides of her breasts and abdomen. Behind his back, her toes curl and flex.

“Good?” he asks at one point, but she seems to have lost her command of the English language and can only answer with a low moan of pleasure.

"Does your lower back still bother you?" he asks, and it takes her several moments to understand that it is a genuine question and not more teasing.

She manages a muffled hum of assent, all the information he needs either way.   


He backs off again to sit at her side, slowly pulling the sheet still lower. Her skin tingles as the material slides against her, but her enjoyment is curtailed as he stops it maddeningly short of where she might by now like it to be. Any complaint she may have drifts away when his hands return to circle her waist, establishing an undulating rhythm as he rolls from the base of his hands to his thumbs, working from the base of her spine outward. He slides his hands a bit lower each time he reaches her sides, repeating the process. She feels weightless under his touch, her hips rising up of their own accord when he releases her, putting up no resistance as he guides her back down.   


He pauses after several minutes of this treatment, fingers curled around her hipbones and thumbs pressing firm circles into her flesh but staying, for the moment, in one place. She squirms beneath him, encouraging him to continue. God, if he would just slip his hands beneath her and touch her, _ touch her properly_...   
  
He laughs lightly and lets go altogether instead, reaching across her for the bottle of baby oil again. He lets his bare chest graze the skin of her back, an unnecessary but appreciated reminder that he is almost nude himself. She could flip onto her back, pull him to her and shove those pants roughly to his knees in about two seconds, she calculates hazily, and she knows he wouldn't put up a bit of a fight. But she forces herself to master the impulse and continue to let him set the pace. She has no doubt that he will reward her patience.   
  
All thought of rebellion leaves her mind as he drags the sheet almost free of her legs entirely, exposing her to what she does not need to see to know is his lustful gaze. He trails a finger slowly from the base of her neck all the way down her spine, his palm coming to rest firmly on her ass. She can feel his eyes drinking in every inch of her. "God, you're beautiful," he breathes.   
  
In response, she presses herself harder against his hand, as if to say:  _then do something about it_. He turns the bottle over and squeezes the oil directly onto her skin this time, a long trail down each leg from her ass to the back of her knee, the cold coming as a shock against her warmed skin. He throws one leg over hers to straddle her again, smoothing the oil over her in long, sure strokes. On each pass he increases the pressure, his hands clenched around her thighs as he moves upward, alternately focusing on the inside and outside of her legs, squeezing her ass harder and longer each time. She attunes herself to his building rhythm, ready and pushing back into him as the movement crests, her little sighs mounting to gasps, then groans.   
  
Dimly, she is aware that he is careful now not to sit back on her legs, not to make any contact with her at all save for his talented hands. She knows he is hard and wanting her, denying his own desires as he works her to a frenzy, even as he takes in an unrestricted view of his ultimate goal. Shamelessly, she bucks her hips upward as much as his controlling grip will allow, challenging him to abandon his restraint and bury himself in her.   
  
She hears a catch in his breath now and then, too, but he continues undeterred, drawing strength perhaps from the torment he is putting her through. He moves a little closer, turning his full attention to her ass, as if it were a trouble spot in need of as much special attention as her tight lower back or knotted shoulders. He begins a new cadence, alternately squeezing hard and soothing her skin with a long press of his wandering fingers, his thumbs occasionally working to slide beneath her, teasing at the outsides of her labia before pulling away again.   
  
"Pressure okay?" he checks in on her, intending to provoke her, but the hoarse edge to his voice gives away his own growing need.   
  
"Could take a little more," she dares him, rolling her neck against the pillow in pleasure.   
  
"’Kay," he responds playfully, lowering his head briefly to place a kiss against her back, his lips soothing across her skin in what she thinks vaguely must be preparation, or a warning, for what is to come.    
  
He pulls away and breaks contact for a few moments, shifting behind her. The loss of his touch leaves her hyperaware of her whole body, no longer focused on the area he is currently torturing. She feels the cool night breeze play across the little hairs on her back, feels her nipples almost painful now, overstimulated from pressing and dragging against the sheet for so long. It is almost all she can do, in the interminable few seconds before his hands are on her again, not to uncross her arms and let her fingers slide between her legs, quickly finishing what is taking him an age to get around to.   
  
Finally she feels him again, his hands gently pushing her legs apart, moving on his knees into the space he has created between them. She lets out a little gasp when she realizes it is his bare skin she is feeling now, the soft hair of his legs tickling against her smooth ones. She clenches her fists, letting the pillow muffle her reaction.   
  
He laughs, appreciating her response, and sits back on his heels, his knees together. His hands roam all over her for long moments, aimlessly exploring her with fingertips and palms and the backs of his hands. Finally he stops his wanderings at her hips, gently pulling her up onto his knees, her legs falling on either side of his.    
  
His hands resume their previous course, tracing the curves of her ass with sure movements, but this time with every downward stroke his thumbs venture further between her legs, the upward tilt of her spine now providing him better access. She sucks in a breath and releases it hard each time he touches her and moves away, and she is soon slick from the process, less from the baby oil now than from her own wetness. She rocks her pelvis in time with his movements, straining to find the right contact between her clit and his knee as he pushes closer, then pulls away, closer, away.   
  
She feels lightheaded and dizzy as if all the blood in her body has drained to her core, throbbing and pulsing toward one central point, her limbs going numb and unresponsive as her body focuses all of its resources just there. She squirms against him desperately, wild and out of time as something even so basic as rhythm escapes her. If she could trust herself to produce the words, she is almost on the point of shouting  _ now, now, now, touch me, damn you _ when he seems to intuit them, turning over one hand to slip beneath her finally. Two fingers run roughly over her clit and then enter her, slowly probing to the first knuckle, then the second, then filling her as deeply as he can reach.   
  
He leans forward over her, bracing himself against the mattress with his other hand. She is almost panting in anticipation now, and he is so close she can feel the irregular pattern of his own breath against her back. He pauses like this for a maddening length of time and she tries to simply let go, to feel and enjoy every response he is drawing from her. In a way, this sensation of her body pulsing gently around his fingers, her clit twitching against the base of his hand, is more gratifying than the orgasm he will eventually command from it. She is not too far gone to distinguish the curl of his finger inside her, to appreciate how a little rock of her hips alters the sensation, to sense how his breathing changes just slightly as he studies the way every slight movement ripples across her back. Aren't these moments, on the precipice but still in control, somehow more satisfying than the ones that follow after, profoundly felt but not consciously understood, a blur of unthinking pleasure and animal response?   
  
She has little time to consider the question and doesn't much regret it as he begins to push her over that edge, slipping his fingers out of her again and drawing them over her slowly, coated in her moisture. His fingers continue their massaging movements in miniature, moving over a narrower area but with no less focus or strength. He presses against her in varied strokes and pulses, running the length of her labia outside and in. Every time she feels she may scream in frustration he gives her something more -- a finger pushing inside her again, the heel of his hand pressing hard against her pubic bone, a fingertip lightly rolling across her clit -- appeasing her for a moment but leaving her desire spiraling higher and higher.   
  
Without realizing or intending it, and likely without his noticing, she has writhed her way up his legs far enough that one abrupt movement forward on his part brings him into contact with her, his hard cock resting for a moment against her ass. They both inhale sharply, surprised and suddenly alert, then laugh at the simultaneous realization of the effect they have on one another.   
  
"C'mere," he grunts as much as says, sitting back on his heels again and pulling her back with him, her back pressed against his chest. She gasps at the sudden movement but quickly recovers herself, grinding her ass against him, trying to maneuver his cock into position. He makes a low shushing sound, rustling her hair and tickling her ear, before pressing long kisses against her shoulder.  _ Not quite yet_.   
  
She groans in torment but lets him position her as he likes, her head dropping against his shoulder. He encourages her knees still wider apart, and steadies her with one arm around her waist. The other hand cups one breast, gently squeezing and soothing her flesh, the weight of it filling his palm. He rolls one nipple between thumb and forefinger, her own wetness still doing the work of the baby oil, long forgotten. His other hand releases her and dips between her legs long enough to coat his fingers and ensure she remains right on that edge before removing it to give the same attention to her other breast.   
  
"So, what's the verdict?" He whispers in her ear, and between his breath hot on her neck, his hands roaming over her chest and now stomach, and his hips thrusting against her at irregular intervals, it takes her several moments to make sense of the question.   
  
When she finally does, it comes with a jagged laugh. "I'm not sure this qualifies as massage, exactly."   
  
"No, but at some point I decided to set my ambitions a little higher."   
  
"Oh?" she asks distantly as she covers his hands with hers, following them where they care to roam.    
  
He wraps his arms around her briefly, holding her tightly against him. "I want to make you come harder than you ever have in your life."   
  
Letting out a low moan, she turns over her shoulder and he leans forward to meet her in an awkwardly positioned but needy kiss, her tongue sliding roughly against his.    
  
"You're your own competition there, you know," she pulls back long enough to retort, quickly returning her mouth to his, devouring any reply he might care to make. 

His hands drift down to her waist again, but she is well past the point of enduring more teasing, and doesn’t intend to find out what he has in mind. She bites and then sucks his lower lip, smirking back up at him in response to his little yelp of surprise, then pushes back off him and falls to the mattress on all fours.    
  
She takes one look back at him over her shoulder and she knows this part of it is over, knows he knows it's over. She tosses her hair out of her face, staring back at him with eyes wild and ready, challenging him. If he had any idea of prolonging this, she can tell by the way he grins back at her, his tongue darting briefly out from his lips, he has certainly abandoned it now.   
  
He moves forward on his knees, positioning himself just behind her, his hands steady on her waist. She keeps her eyes on him, wishing she could see what he sees. But the look on his face is perhaps even more enjoyable, his eyes going a little wide and then drifting closed, a muscle in his face tensing and then relaxing as he watches his cock slide inside her. 

When he opens his eyes again to find her still watching him in fascination and lust, his breath becomes more ragged. She turns away then and drops onto her forearms, arching her back for his enjoyment. Visual creature that he is, she knows very well he has always loved to watch her in this position.

She's already so close she could probably come if he leaned forward and whispered the word in her ear, a command. An hour of preamble (longer? she has no way of knowing) was more than enough; she won't make it through a slow and building acceleration. She needs him  _ now. _ He seems to know this by instinct, the result of years of careful study of her responses, or perhaps he simply feels the same. When he begins, his thrusts are urgent, steady, and hard, and as his hands move over her now it is more to hold on than anything else.   
  
She cries out, loving the feeling of him moving inside her, forcing her to grip the sheets to keep her balance at the end of every thrust. She gives up the fight after a while, her arms weak from bearing the strain. Her shoulders drop to the mattress, arching her back further to keep the position for him and he groans, evidently enjoying the new view as much as she is enjoying the new sensations this angle affords them.    
  
He falls forward after her, his hands on her shoulders making some pretense of resuming a massaging touch, his lips dropping to her neck as if to kiss her, but he quickly forgets his intent as he bears down on her, his focus narrowed to only one end now. She bucks upward as hard as she can from this angle, meeting and absorbing his every thrust, demanding her release.   
  
And then all at once she is surrounded by it, losing all control of the movement of her hips as her body draws inward, shuddering, sending her off balance. She cries out again, whether his name or an expletive or utter gibberish she could not know, falling fully against the mattress and bringing him down with her. Vaguely she is aware of his lips at her neck again, whispering encouraging and soothing words as she clenches and releases around his cock, still pumping inside her.   
  
They lay like that for long moments, she trying to catch her breath, he pressed against her back and kissing her lazily, senselessly. She is still coming, irregular shallow waves moving through her, as she struggles to maneuver herself onto her back beneath him. He lowers his forehead to hers, both practically panting as she begins to regain control over her body. He slipped out when she turned over but he quickly reenters her, more roughly than she expects, drawing another tremor from her when she should be done, another and another. Her eyes flutter closed as she moans in satisfaction. 

He has propped himself up on his forearms when she opens her eyes again, gazing down at her in wonder and unabashed love. She reaches up and runs a hand through his mussed hair, smoothing it back down.   
  
"Hey," she whispers, letting her hand run down his neck and pulling him down toward her, aware of his cock still hard and throbbing inside her. "Your turn."   
  
"I like watching you," he smirks back at her.    
  
"So watch me," she counters, lifting her legs to wrap around his waist and pull him more tightly against her.    
  
She takes his little grunt and the quick response of his hips as an acceptance of her terms. He begins to move inside her again, shallow and slow thrusts at first, barely pulling out each time. She knows what he is doing, knows he is trying to see if he can coax a last little wave from her or get her started again before he fully commits himself to his own pleasure. She won't come again, she knows it, but god she loves him for trying, and it feels wonderful, regardless, her body still sensitive and reactive to his every touch.   
  
She curls up enough to meet him halfway, kissing him thoroughly, helping his sweetness give way to passion. She can feel the change come over him gradually, the rhythm of his hips shifting as the intensity of their kiss does, and only when he moans a little into her mouth does she lie back again, content. She drops her legs lower and lets her calves press against his ass as her hips rise to meet his. She is happy to let him set whatever pace he likes now, but she will encourage him along in any way she can.   
  
And he does watch her, for as long as he can. She can see him resisting, straining to retain enough sense and control to enjoy the visual stimuli. He is fixated on her breasts for a long time, licking his lips as they move in time to his own rhythm, the sight making him move faster and then responding with an almost innocent excitement as their movement speeds as well. He drops his mouth to one while palming the other, sucking and nipping at her until she cries out again.   
  
He lifts his head then to gauge her reaction, smiling back at the smile he finds there. His rhythm slows for a moment as he looks down at her, almost lost in her eyes, but he winces then, fighting a losing battle. She runs her hands along his sides and back, still meeting whatever pace he sets, but increasingly struggling to keep up, and she knows he is close.   
  
Still, he watches her, even as his movements become irregular and urgent, even as she can tell from his expression, somehow distant and focused all at once, that he isn't seeing much in particular right now. Finally he gives in to his body, his voice faltering as he whispers, "God, I love you," before dropping his forehead to her shoulder.   
  
She wraps her arms around him, hands moving through his hair and up and down his back. She encircles him with her legs again, squeezing him, before letting her feet drop to run along his calves. He buries himself in her, pumping hard and fast, and if he kept this up long enough she probably would come again. But she wants this for him so much more, this precious man in her arms. She burrows her face into his neck and holds him as tightly as she can, whispering that she loves him too, god she loves him so much, until her words are drowned out by his labored breathing, the whining noise starting low in his throat and resolving into a shout as his hips jerk into her uncontrollably, and then still. 

They lie like that for long moments, his face buried in the crook of her neck as he gasps for air, his arms quivering as he tries to support enough of his own weight that he doesn’t crush her. She’s still a bit breathless herself, her limbs like jelly, the breeze coming in from the window drying her perspiration and cooling her overheated skin. She wishes she had the foresight to put some water by the bed.

Gliding her fingers lightly up and down Kurt’s back, she presses soft kisses to his forehead and hair as gradually his breathing slows to normal. After a while, he lifts his head and kisses her back, once, hard and fast on her lips, before rolling off her and landing flat on his back. Seconds later, he groans, then struggles to sit up, leaning down and retrieving a couple of pillows from the chest at the foot of the bed where she’d moved them earlier.

"Up," he commands, sliding one under her head when she complies, then arranging his own and lying back down, one arm angling behind his head and the other hand falling to rest on her upper thigh, his fingers tapping an out-of-sync rhythm briefly against her skin, then quieting.

He blows a forceful breath up to the ceiling, then turns his head abruptly to look at her, cocky grin firmly in place. He’s proud of himself, and rightly so, she must admit. Whatever fears she may have still been harbouring about the strength of his heart are now thoroughly put to bed, much like she herself. “Not bad for an old man, eh?” he says.

She snorts and rolls her eyes, but shifts closer until she’s sharing his pillow, their legs moving at the same time to tangle together. “Not bad at all,” she assures him.  “I’ll let Frank know tomorrow that he’s lost a customer.”


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: We didn’t set out to make a topical reference to the US presidential election in the chapter. We actually wrote this months ago with quite the opposite outcome in mind, and timing, good or bad, brings us to publish it so soon after it happened. It’s kind of interesting to think how mchart would react in either case. But we think there is one thing they can agree on either way...

"Thank you," Diane says, as she concludes her brief speech. Looking around, she smiles confidently and makes eye contact with as many members of the small audience as she can before stepping back from the podium and allowing Eli to escort her from the small stage and behind the curtain separating their narrow staging area from the rest of the hotel conference room.

As soon as they're alone, he turns to face her, grasping both her arms at the elbows. "That was perfect, Diane. Perfect! You hit just the right tone. Great job."

“Thank you,” she says, blushing slightly from his effusive praise. It wasn’t a huge feat by any means; there were only a couple dozen attendees, mainly reporters and Democratic party officials, along with her small personal support system: her former law partners and Kurt. But it was the first step in this next phase of her life, and now it’s behind her. It feels good.

The curtains part behind Eli, as Kurt appears on their side of them. He’s dressed up for the occasion in one of his old courtroom sport jackets over a plaid dress shirt, and his beard is freshly trimmed. He hadn’t had a lot to say earlier when they first arrived, his own way of trying to help her stay calm. “You’ll be fine,” he had said with a shrug, as if he couldn’t imagine her being anything but. Still he had hugged her extra tight before leaving to join the waiting audience.

“Well?” she asks now as he approaches her. “What did you think?”

He nods a few times, eyebrows up, hands sliding into the pockets of his pants. “Good, good. I may be forced to vote Dem for the first time in my life.” Finally he smiles, and closes the last of the gap between them, one arm sliding around her waist as he kisses her on the cheek. “I’m proud of you.”

“You better vote for her,” Eli mutters from off to the side, scowling at his phone.

“Laura and the others had to go,” he tells her as she gathers up her belongings. “They said to tell you congratulations and they’ll see you at the reception later.”

They exit into the hallway to find a couple of the reporters are still lingering in the hotel lobby. Diane looks over at Eli. They hadn’t anticipated anyone waiting around for her; she hasn’t prepared herself to take any questions.

Eli shrugs. “They’re probably just killing time. Follow me, and don’t say anything unless I signal that it’s okay.”

And indeed, it seems he’s correct when the first reporter doesn’t even look up from his phone when they pass by. Another, a woman around Diane’s own age, watches them closely from her seat in an armchair positioned to one side of the reception desk. Diane feels vaguely uneasy at the intensity of her stare, but the woman also remains silent as they pass.

Eli shrugs again when they reach the door with no interruptions. “See? They just don’t want to go back to their desks yet.”

"Mr. McVeigh," a voice calls out and beside her Kurt automatically turns to the sound of his name. Diane turns as well, only to find the female reporter has risen from her seat and is now walking towards them.

"I thought that was you.” The reporter laughs, but it’s a forced and humourless sound. "Here to support your ex-wife, how nice. What’s your relationship like these days?"

"Private," Eli snaps, turning away from the door himself and maneuvering until he is between Kurt and Diane, and the reporter. Diane finds herself unable to do anything but stare at the woman in shock. She knew, intellectually, that these questions were a possibility, but here, now, in the moment, to have a stranger pry into the most painful time of her life is simply astonishing. She couldn’t speak if she wanted to.

"My name is Karen Fallbrook. I’m with the Trib. I covered Governor Florrick's trial two years ago," the woman persists. "That was a very public way to find out your husband was cheating on you, Ms. Lockhart. I have to say, I’m surprised you still speak to him after that humiliation.”

“Turn around,” Eli hisses to them. “Walk.”

Diane glances over at Kurt and sees his face is completely blank, but when she reaches for his hand, he accepts the contact and steps closer. United, they follow Eli out of the hotel to the car waiting for them at the curb.

Eli glowers at the reporter until the car drives off and she fades from view, evidently taking some pleasure in the act although she cannot see him through the tinted glass. His gaze softens as he turns back to Diane and Kurt, but he frowns slightly as he notices their hands still clasped tightly together, resting on the seat. Diane knows very well what he is thinking: this is a problem to be dealt with.

"This is going to get so much worse than that," he says, his tone pointed, but not unkind. "I hope you're prepared."

"I knew that going in," she replies, sounding more confident than she feels just now. "I'm prepared."

Eli decides to let it rest for the time being, although she is sure his brain is racing with advice and orders. "Should we drop you at home?"

"The firm, please. I have a few personal things to pack up, then you can consider my ties severed once and for all."

As Eli leans over to give directions to the driver, Diane watches Kurt, gives his hand a little squeeze. He smiles thinly in response, but continues to stare out the window. They're about ten minutes away from being alone together, if Eli doesn't hang around and none of her former colleagues immediately descend upon her with questions and congratulations, but waiting to find out what he is thinking is agony. She can tell from his stony silence it can be nothing good.

 _I'm prepared_ , she had said, and perhaps that's just the problem. She worries she should have done more to ensure he was prepared, too, beyond simply assuring him she wanted him by her side no matter what happened. He was there for her, and would be any time she simply asked. But that wasn't the same as him wanting to do this. And it certainly wasn't the same as him being prepared to do this.

"I want you to meet with Angela Wharton later this week," Eli brings her focus back to the matter at hand. "She and her team will consult with you to develop a concept and theme for your campaign."

"A concept?" Diane asks, not sure if she's just distracted or painfully ignorant about the process.

"Colors, a slogan, yard signs, image, parades, all that nonsense."

"Oh, of course. Yes, have her call me." Inwardly she groans but she glances over at Kurt -- she looks forward to finding him in a better mood, teasing her mercilessly for wearing the color suit she is advised to best stand out while doing her parade wave.

"And Tim Donovan. He's our party liaison for fundraising -- you know, dinners for big donors. You won't need his help to influence rich old men, you've made a career out of doing just that, but he'll make sure you understand what's expected."

Diane nods and takes it all in as Eli continues on. _What's expected_. Her head is swimming with the details of this new life she has signed up for -- or this strange interim life she must play at for the next few months until her real next chapter can begin. She hadn't thought a lot about campaigning, truth be told, when she decided she wanted the judgeship. She suddenly wonders if she's half as prepared as she thought she was.

"Anyway," Eli concludes as the car comes to a stop. "We'll start all that tomorrow. Today -- celebrate!"

Diane smiles grimly, not sure she much feels like celebrating just now. "Thanks, Eli. See you tonight."  


 

***

  


"The movers will be here in an hour," Diane says, breezing into her office, Kurt a few steps behind. "But I don't have a lot of personal things here, really. Oh, good, they left the boxes."

She notes this absently, walking over to her desk and setting one box within reach, keeping her eyes on him. His hands are in his pockets, his face still expressionless, nodding and taking a look around.

"How can I help?"

"Come here," she smiles, and gestures him over, grabbing another box for him. "I'll go through my desk if you want to take this shelf, everything over here is mine... Oh."

Her smile deepens into a grin as she picks up the framed photograph of her standing next to Hillary Clinton and flashes it at him. She has lost count of how many times they have stood on this very spot, mocking and crabbing at each other over politics, inspired by just this picture.

He smiles too, his mind playing over the same memories, some of the tension in his face immediately slackening.

"You'll think I'm silly, but I had to put it away for a while after the election. I'd tear up every time I looked at it." She shakes her head, setting it down in the box. "But I feel a lot of pride looking at it now."

"She's a fighter, just like you. I'll give her that much," he laughs lightly.

"I'll have to look to her for inspiration in the campaign. She weathered a lot; I can certainly stare down a few rude reporters."

He raises his eyebrows slightly at that. "Hopefully with a better outcome in your case."

"Oh dear god," she says, a chill suddenly running through her. "Please tell me you didn't vote for Trump."

"Would you still love me if I did?" He smirks, taking a few steps closer, drifting into her personal space but not quite touching her.

She grimaces, not wanting to even consider the question. But judging by how much she wants to kiss him right now, she knows the truth. "I hope I never have to find out."

He laughs. "No. I went for Johnson, not that he was any more inspiring. We can at least agree that Trump is a lunatic."

"Thank god." She makes an exaggerated sigh of relief, resting her hands lightly on his chest. Her mind drifts back to the presidential campaign, when everything was still so raw and painful in her own life. She had given up thoughts of trying to save their marriage, but couldn't give up thoughts of him altogether, hard as she tried. Every time some major campaign event happened her first instinct was to call him, followed immediately by the pain that came with remembering she could not do that anymore. She realizes now she had never stopped inventing reasons to reach out to him, that she would not let him go because quite simply she did not want to. Thank god, she repeats to herself silently, she finally did.

"I missed you a lot, then," she says quietly, her eyes locking on his.

"Yeah. Me, too."

She smiles and holds his gaze for a long moment, cementing their understanding. Caught up in the moment, she nearly adds, _I wish I'd called you then_ , but stops herself. It is not, strictly speaking, true. She thought of it then, and she wishes it now, but she knows she never would have been ready at the time. And if she had rushed it, they probably would not still be standing here today. What they have lost, they have lost. She had reached out to him just as soon as she could; she cannot second-guess herself for that now.

He has gone quiet and somber again, and she isn't sure if he is thinking the same things, or if he has returned to what happened after the announcement. She pulls at his shirt gently, bringing his attention back to her. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he says, meeting her gaze for a moment, then looking down again, his assertion not very convincing. "I guess we know what we're up against now."

She smiles lightly, encouraged at least that he is saying 'we,' seeing them as a united front. "There are always going to be people who want to tear you down any way they can. If it wasn't this, it would be something else."

"But it is this," he says quietly. "It's going to keep being this."

"And we'll get through it."

He takes a step back out of her reach, as if he doesn't trust himself to think straight while she is so close. He gestures to the chairs on the opposite side of her desk, moving around to sit. She follows him, concerned but glad at least that he wants to talk to her. He seems to be done with keeping his thoughts bottled up inside.

"Maybe we should rethink this, Diane."

"What do you mean?" she asks, trying to keep her voice even, but knowing her face must look stricken.

"I'm not suggesting we change our lives. I'm just saying maybe we should be a little less public about it."

"I don't want to hide you away, Kurt. And why should I? I can take a little nasty talk." She studies his face for long moments, looking for answers that aren't written there. "What is this really about?"

"Look, I know you can take it. I've seen you rip people to shreds when they dare to cross you -- you're good at it, and it's hot as hell," he adds more lightly, flashing her a flirtatious smile. "And I can take it, too. But what I can't take..."

She reaches over and takes his hand, smiling back at him encouragingly, just letting him talk. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

"I know it isn't always going to be easy, and I can do this, Diane, whatever it takes, to be with you. But I can't be the cause of your unhappiness. I can't be the person who makes your life harder."

"How very gallant," she says softly, looking over at him with eyes full of affection. "Kurt, they're going to ask their asinine questions whether you're there or not. You can't stop them, unless you decide to walk out of my life, and that certainly isn't going to make me happy. In fact, I don't think anything could make me less happy."

"I'm not going anywhere, I promise." He laughs lightly, squeezing her hand in return. "I'm probably just being selfish anyway."

"I doubt that."

"That or a coward. I don't want to watch you go through that, because every time I'm gonna know I'm the reason it's happening."

She looks at him for a long time. It will be painful; she cannot tell him it won't be. There may be no way around that except straight through, and finding on the other side of it that they are still standing. "You believe me that I forgive you, don't you?"

"I do."

"Are you worried that a reminder is going to change my mind?"

He starts to respond, but cuts himself off, struggling to articulate his honest answer.

"Kurt, I haven't forgotten. Things aren't good because I pretend nothing happened. Things are good because things are good. Because we’re working through it and _making_ things good. The past can't change that now, no matter what they say about it."

Some subtle shift in his expression or his posture tells her he has accepted this, more or less, or at least trusts her enough to believe it in the absence any other proof. But still he looks over at her, needing to put in one last word of caution. "Eli is right. It's going to get a lot worse."

"Won't change a thing," she insists, smiling.

He finally relents, holding her gaze and smiling back at her. "I love you."

She stands and crosses the short distance between them, leaning down slowly and cupping his face in both hands, kissing him sweetly.

When she pulls back, she smiles at him again, more playfully now. "Then help me with these boxes."


	28. Chapter 28

When Diane originally thought to have some kind of celebration following her announcement, she pictured something small, probably in her own living room, maybe a dozen people at the most. Instead she finds herself standing just in the doorway of the private room at Chicago’s current hotspot, looking out over a crowd of well-wishers, wondering how in the hell Laura had pulled all this off on such short notice.

"That's a lot of people," Kurt observes from his spot at her side. His arm rests loosely around her waist, fingers dipping just slightly below her silk covered hipbone.

“It is,” she agrees, patting his hand with her own. “Are you ready?”

“Just about.” His hand drops away as he takes a couple of steps further into the room. After snagging two glasses of champagne from a passing server, he returns and holds one out to her.

She takes the offered glass. “All right, then,” she says. “Let’s go.” She raises the champagne to her lips, preparing to take a sip when he stops her with a hand on her elbow. He steps closer, trapping her arm and the glass between them.

“Wait just a minute now. Have they seen us yet?” he asks, leaning over to speak directly into her ear, his breath hot against her skin.

She looks around him into the room. Most of the guests are seated at tables near the floor-to-ceiling windows. Others are standing at the bar. She finds Laura holding court in front of the buffet table, laughing as she talks to Kevin, Monica, and a tall, broad-shouldered young man she assumes to be the elusive Marcus. No one is looking their way. “I don’t think so, why?”

Kurt’s hand drops from her arm to her waist and turns her around, steering her back out the way they came. He escorts her several feet down the hall, then stops, backing her up against the wall, his face giving away nothing of his intentions.

“Kurt,” she asks, not understanding, “what are you doing?”

One hand still resting on her hip, he raises his glass of champagne, only now the hint of smile appearing on his lips. “I wanted the first toast of the night to be just between you and me.”

She grins, suddenly awash in love for this man, who is so willingly taking himself out of his comfort zone to be here for her tonight, and always. Reaching out with her free hand, she snags his suit jacket and pulls him a couple of steps closer until there is barely room between them for their glasses. His hand slides from her hip to her ass.

“To dreams coming true,” he says, eyes locked on hers.

“It’s never too late,” she adds, tilting her glass to tap against his.

Still not breaking eye contact, they drink, the bubbles tickling the back of her throat as she swallows. Hidden from the prying view of the rest of the world by the wall behind her and his body in front of her, his hand slides even lower on her ass and squeezes, and she wonders how she’s ever going to get through the rest of this evening without sneaking off into some dark corner to be alone with him.

His head is drifting closer, his eyes broadcasting his thoughts, which seem to be following much the same path as hers. Leaning in, he kisses her, softly but not chastely, a promise for later. When he pulls back, she follows, not done with him yet. Her free hand releases his jacket and slides up his chest to his shoulder, and then his cheek. She pulls him back down, their lips just barely touching again when she senses movement out of the corner of her eye.

“Jesus! There you are! God Diane, this is _your_ thing; people are starting to wonder if you’re even going to show up. Hi Kurt. Come on, come on.” Laura’s words are exasperated, but the laughter in her tone confesses it’s mostly just for show. She walks around to the other side of them, shooing them back toward the private room like a dog herding errant sheep.

Diane chances a quick eyeroll in Kurt’s direction. He chuckles silently and shakes his head, holding out his arm for her to take. Once they’re moving in her preferred direction, Laura somehow maneuvers in front them, preceding them into the room and clapping loudly to gain everyone’s attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen, our guest of honour has finally arrived. Everyone, may I present the next Illinois Supreme Court Justice, Diane Lockhart!” She moves to the side, gesturing at Diane like a game show model showing off a new car.

The guests applaud, some politely, others with more enthusiasm. Diane spots David Lee sitting at a table with Julius Cain and his wife on one side of the room. And on the other side are her old friends Fran and Lyle Pollard, seating with…oh! She grins, waving at Laura’s parents.

The crowd is dotted with so many familiar faces – lawyers she’s worked with during various incarnations of her firm, several judges, a couple of the more gregarious Assistant State’s Attorneys. She notices a group of women from the yoga class she and Laura often attend on Saturday mornings, and another table is occupied by people she serves with on the board of the local women’s shelter.

Eli is there, standing with a young woman she believes is his daughter, talking to an official from the Democratic Committee, and Bea Wilson from the Women’s Rights Counsel sits with Lucca, gesturing animatedly with a martini glass in her hand.

“Now if everyone can shut up for a minute, I bet we can get Diane to say a few words.” Laura turns to her, beaming with pride, and probably with the effects of a few glasses of the freely flowing champagne.

“Thanks for that,” she says laughingly, under the guise of giving Laura a quick hug.

“Hey, you’re a politician now,” Laura jokes back. “I didn’t figure you’d need much of an invitation.”

Diane rolls her eyes and takes a step back, looking out at her friends and colleagues, all of them here to support her on a moment’s notice. It’s actually quite touching. “Thank you all for coming,” she says around a sudden lump in her throat. “I know this was short notice, but it all happened so quickly, my head is still spinning.”

“That’s the champagne,” Lucca calls from across the room, raising her glass.

Diane raises hers in turn, grinning at her former partner before continuing. “I’m going to be making a lot of speeches in the coming months. My thank you gift to all of you, my friends, for your support, is to not practice them on you now, tonight. Enjoy the party, everyone.”

She gets the laugh she was hoping for, then waves them all back to their previous conversations, turning around in search of Kurt, who has, at some point, disappeared from her side.

Diane scours the crowd for some sign of her reticent, silver-haired cowboy, but is immediately swept up by wave after wave of well-wishers. They offer her the same words of congratulations and ask her the same questions, eliciting the same perfunctory responses while she grows increasingly concerned by his absence. She maintains her smile and hugs them all warmly, working on autopilot while her mind is somewhere else. It comes so naturally, she might be suited for the business of politics after all.

Where on earth did he go off to? She worries he has been cornered by a well-meaning friend, grilling him on his place in her life. Or perhaps he has receded to some dark corner alone, hoping to avoid exactly that. She hates to think of him in either position, and what's more, she simply wants him here. She wants that easy, steady presence at her side, ready with a smirk as she comments on how tiresome this or that person is while she makes her rounds through the crowd, his hands on her when he thinks no one is looking, or even when he knows full well they are.

"Diane!" she hears a man's voice call out, and she turns around to see Lyle, waving her over. "Stop mingling for a minute and come sit with us."

She would love to stop mingling, but not for this, she thinks vaguely, concealing her frustration. She makes a last quick, futile scan for him as she forces herself to grin and nod, heading in their direction. But still there is no sign of him, so, resigned, she takes a seat at the table.

"Thanks for coming, it means a lot to have you all here," she says, reaching across the table to take Fran and Lyle's hands briefly. She turns to the other woman on her right and pulls her into an embrace, smiling over her shoulder at her husband. "And Carol and Bill! I can't believe you came all this way."

"Well, I think you know our daughter can be very persuasive," Carol grins back at her as she pulls away.

"But it didn't take much persuading," Bill adds. "We wanted to be here for you. You've come a long way from those 2am cram sessions back in school, the two of you living on pizza for weeks. But don't think I've forgotten."

"Oh, stop," Diane swats at him in mock annoyance, but laughs. "I will have to give Laura a hard time later. This isn't exactly the 'just close friends' affair we agreed to, but it was awfully sweet of her."

"She wanted to show you how grateful she is to you. She can take a thing to extremes..." Carol looks around, shaking her head. "But really, Diane, I hope you know what an influence you've had on her, and how many doors you've opened for her. She adores you."

"Well, the feeling is mutual," Diane says, touched. "I'm so glad I can leave my firm in her hands, but it isn't a gift. She's earned it. She's knowledgeable, a brilliant strategist, and tenacious. She'll do well at the top."

"Well, of course, she learned from the best," Bill laughs.

"You know what, I'm going to accept all forms of flattery tonight," she grins, accepting this without protest.

"You look happy, Diane," Fran comments, watching her intently. "It's good to see that."

Diane's smile falters for a moment but she quickly recovers, fixing it in place. As with so much of what Fran says, as much as she does love her, her words are colored by an unkind intimation. Diane catches her meaning clearly: good to see her happy now, after seeing her unhappy for so long. She wonders with building annoyance where Fran was for that long stretch of time, after the divorce but before the judgeship came her way, when she had worked to get her career and her personal life into a good place, when she had felt more free and fulfilled than she could remember in her whole adult life. That was all her own doing, but it was a quiet, unshowy happiness, which she suspects Fran took for a lonely half life, a consolation prize after all she had lost.

But she says none of this, opting for the equally civil but equally pointed reply. "I am happy. I’ve _been_ happy, but I'm looking forward to a new adventure."

"Well, I'm glad," Carol jumps in, trying to close this and move on to a new subject, catching the subtle shift in her two old friends' moods. She has seen this happen often enough over the years to know where it's headed and to prefer to avoid it.

But Lyle, so like his wife, adept at concealing his impertinence in innocuous phrases, is not quite ready to let it go. " _Everything_ seems to be going well for you."

"Everything is," she confirms simply, unfazed by his obvious reference to the other unannounced but equally obvious source of her happiness.

"We're happy if you're happy, Diane," Fran goes on, a snippy tone to her voice doing nothing to reinforce her words. "I've always said that when it came to him."

Diane is tempted to laugh. She has not always said that; in fact, she has said quite the reverse. Over the years, nothing had changed their initial feelings about Kurt, and she knows they felt personally vindicated when she divorced him. It was almost as if they had taken a certain pleasure in her suffering, satisfied they had known something was wrong with him all along. If only Diane had listened, they could have saved her a lot of trouble.

"Fran, come on," Carol says, scolding her now.

"What? I'm allowed to be surprised, I hope. I'm surprised, that's all."

Diane sits back in her chair, her jaw set. She knows very well that is not all -- not by a long shot. She thinks she'd like to hear it, all of it, before she cuts her down in ten words or less.

"He-ey, there he is now," Lyle calls out, possibly to save his wife the embarrassment, sighting and flagging Kurt over.


	29. Chapter 29

Diane whips around in her chair to see him, two drinks in hand and clearly weighing whether he can pretend he hasn't heard and escape. She catches his eye and shoots him an apologetic look, out of sight of the others. She wanted him at her side, but just now she thinks almost anywhere else would be safer for him.

Admitting defeat, he smiles back grimly and approaches the table, taking the last chair between Diane and Lyle. He slides one glass toward a grateful Diane and takes a long drink of his own.

"Kurt, you remember Fran and Lyle, of course," Diane says, regaining an amicable tone, if only for his sake. "And my old friends Carol and Bill, Laura's parents. I think you only met once before."

"Of course, I remember," he says, nodding in their direction. "Good to see you again."

Lyle clears his throat, an obvious alternative to saying, 'Good to see you, too.'

"What have you been up to, Kurt?" Bill asks innocently enough, made uncomfortable by the tension but not quite sure what else to say to disperse it. Diane is grateful to him for trying, but any question at all feels like a time bomb at this point.

"Teaching, mostly," Kurt offers tersely, and though that is taking up little of his time now during the summer break, it feels like the only safe subject in this company.

"Oh, wonderful," Bill responds with the air of someone who is interested in nothing except being polite. "And now, do you still testify at trials much?"

"Not anymore," he says only, not elaborating in hopes that the subject will simply die. Diane reaches out for him under the table, squeezing his thigh and letting her hand rest there.

"He's  _ retired_," Lyle clarifies, leaning over the table meaningfully at Bill. Her fingers grip Kurt's leg a little tighter, hearing the unspoken word at the end of his sentence:  _ remember? _

She tries to shake it off, knowing she's reading more malice into their words than she should. She relaxes again, her fingers slowly moving over his leg now, in what she hopes is a calming and reassuring gesture. He places his own hand over hers, entwining their fingers, bringing her movements to a halt. She realizes then, with a devilish smile she tries and mostly succeeds in suppressing, that the effect was pleasant although not precisely a  _ calming  _ one.

"Will you be campaigning with Diane?" Fran asks, smiling thinly at Kurt.

"Whatever she needs me to do." He shrugs.

"He's the best support system I could have," she says, smiling over at him with genuine appreciation, although her words are mainly for the others' benefit just now. "The next few months are going to be exhausting, but it's a lot easier to face with Kurt at my side."

"I doubt it will be easier, Diane," Fran says, still smiling, but her voice is full of condescension. "You know people are going to talk; people are going to ask questions."

"I do know," Diane says, matching her smile and her tone. "Just like you are going to talk as soon as we leave the table."

"Well!" Fran exclaims as if it is her place to be offended, and Lyle pats her hand to soothe her. Carol and Bill exchange an awkward glance, not sure what to say. Diane is sure they have concerns of their own, but she is grateful they at least have the tact to keep it to themselves.

"I know you all want what's best for me, and I appreciate that, I do. But trust me to know what that is, won't you?"

Fran and Lyle are at last speechless, and Diane glances over at Kurt, whose eyes are twinkling in amusement, none the worse for this minor trial.

She stands, putting an end to the false pleasantries. There will be no convincing Fran and Lyle she has made the right choice tonight, and she little cares to anyway. She strikes a conciliatory tone, looking from one couple to the other. "Well, I probably should get back to mingling -- my work is cut out for me, since your daughter invited everyone I know!"

They exchange their goodbyes and best wishes, some more warm than others, and Diane and Kurt take their leave. She slips her arm around his as they go, leading him through the crowd. She throws some quick greetings over her shoulder as people notice her passing but does not slow, careful not to get drawn into another conversation.

She stops at the far wall of the room, dimly lit and out of earshot of those nearby. Turning to face him, she flashes him a pained expression, exaggerated but nevertheless genuine. "I'm so sorry."

"It's all right," he says, laughing lightly. He never much cared what they thought of him, and she is glad that hasn't changed.

"Where were you? I was looking all over for you."

"Got dragged into one conversation after another, a lot like that one."

"Oh, god," she groans, horrified. "I'm going to kill Laura."

"It's fine, Diane," he says, moving closer and backing her against the wall, as if to prove just how fine it is. "Just promise me you won't take relationship advice from any of your friends."

"I won't," she laughs, slipping her fingers between the buttons of his shirt, encouraging him.

"They're a little more blunt when you're not sitting there. Got a lot of 'never thought we'd see you again,' and one 'Did you bring your girlfriend?'"

"Who said that?" Diane's eyes go wide, ready to fight whoever it may be.

"Forget it. I don't care."

"Tell me..." Her voice drops lower, hands slowly making their way from his chest to his waist, and she almost does forget her purpose in the course of deploying these persuasive tactics. "Or I'll announce to the room that I'm in love with you and anyone who has a problem with that can find the door."

"I think you already did that when you walked in with me, your lipstick all smudged from kissing me."

"Oh," she sighs, pulling him the rest of the way to her, little caring if he does still more damage. "If nothing else, I promise... I'll make it up to you later."

Their lips meet, but linger only briefly, too briefly in her mind, and then he is the one pulling back, his hands sliding to her wrists and pulling her away from the wall.

“Come on,” he says with a lopsided smile. “As much as I’d like to, I can’t hide you in the corner all night. You should make the rounds a couple more times and then maybe we can find someone a little less hostile to sit with.”

She looks up quickly, worried he’s taking this more personally than he’s let on so far, but he’s smirking, eyes gleaming mischievously as his hand falls to an almost inappropriate spot on her hip as they walk back toward the crowd.

She laughs. “Well if no one else, my yoga ladies will have no idea who you are, and they’ll all be unspeakably jealous of my arm candy.”

He snorts. “Arm candy?”

“Shh, don’t talk dear, you’ll spoil the effect.” She allows her shoulder to collide with his playfully, then slides an arm behind him and gives his ass a quick squeeze. He jumps a little and the heated look she gets in return tells her she’ll pay for that later.

Working the room for the next hour, she drags him along as she moves from table to table, from cluster of people to cluster of people, graciously thanking them for coming and asking for their support in the upcoming election, all the while trying not to sound like she’s campaigning. While they encounter a few politely raised eyebrows over Kurt’s presence at her side, thankfully there are no more pointed comments.

David Lee, sitting with Julius Cain and few other former Lockhart Gardner partners and spouses, jokingly advises her he will not be refunding her legal fees from the divorce, nor extending a twofer on the next one. At least she thinks it was a joke, but it’s hard to tell with him sometimes.

By the time she’s spoken to nearly everyone, the evening seems to be starting to wind down. She supposes she should count herself lucky that it’s a Tuesday night and most have to work in the morning. A later night with faster flowing booze could have loosened tongues to an uncomfortable degree, perhaps Kurt’s among them. He’s a good man, willing to put up with a lot in order to be supportive of her goals, but even his stoicism has its limits.

She gives one final ‘thanks for coming’ to a cluster of former clients she’s been reassuring regarding the firm’s ability to continue on without her, before turning to Kurt and grasping his arm in support. “I need to sit, my feet are killing me.”

He snorts and looks pointedly down at the black and red Louboutins that have boosted her up to his height. “I can imagine. Where to?”

Still clinging to his arm, she looks around for the most likely prospect. There are a few empty tables by now; they could just sit by themselves, but then who knows who might feel inclined to join them. Eli is still there, sitting with his daughter and a handful of party officials. They would be fine for Kurt, but she’s not really up for campaign strategy at the moment.

A loud cackle of laughter draws her attention behind her. The yoga ladies seem to be having a fine old time, laughing and gesturing broadly with champagne in hand. They are mostly outsiders to the legal and political worlds and to them this is just a party, which sounds like just what they need right now.

“There.” She gestures with her champagne glass to their table along the edge of the party.

Kurt’s eyes widen as he follows her arm to the four laughing women. “There?” he asks dubiously. “I think I might be better off with the people who hate me.”

As they watch, one of the four stands up and dances in place, demonstrating something to her companions as her arms wave in the air, then collapses back in her chair. If possible, they all laugh even louder.

Diane looks from Kurt, to her friends, and back, then shrugs. She hasn’t been to their table yet, and it was really nice of them to come. They’re probably four of the very small number of people in the room who aren’t keeping a tally of who owes whom how many favours now. And while they know she’s divorced, she doesn’t think they know the whole sordid story. If the worst they have to offer is an overabundance of enthusiasm, that still makes them a better option than anyone else in the room.

“Come on,” she tells Kurt, taking his arm. “I’ll protect you from any wandering hands.”

“Wandering hands?” he repeats incredulously, but he allows himself to be led along.

“Hi!” she says brightly when they reach the table. “Thanks for coming. I’m so happy to see you all.”

“Diane!” Liz, a fortyish buxom brunette, exclaims, jumping up to pull her into a tight hug. “We were thrilled to be invited! And god, so excited for you, right girls?”

The other three women agree, as Diane is passed from woman to woman for excited embraces.

“And who is this?” another of the women asks, raising a well-shaped eyebrow at Kurt.

“Kurt McVeigh,” he offers, setting his drink down and extending his hand. “I’m Diane’s hus…ex-husband.” Diane smiles at his near-slip, one she had almost made several times herself that evening, then laughs as he’s put through the hug train as well, each woman introducing herself in turn.

“Diane, you’ve been holding out on us,” Jane, a petite blonde in her thirties comments, giving Kurt a blatant once over as everyone retakes their seats.

“Yes, well,” she admits, “it’s only been recently that we’ve…reconnected. I don’t think I’ve been to class since.”

“I don’t blame you,” Liz cracks. “If I had that in my bed, I don’t think I’d be getting up for an 8:00 am yoga class either.”

“It’s okay, honey,” Jane, sitting to Kurt’s left comments, patting his hand, “I bet you’re making sure she stays limber in other ways, aren’t you?”

Reddening, Kurt picks up his scotch and takes a large sip. “I try,” he says, shaking his head when he realizes they’re all looking at him, actually expecting an answer.

Diane slips her hand into his lap to get his attention, then leans in for a quick kiss when he turns her way as the other women cheer them on. “You do much better than try,” she whispers, loud enough for only him to hear before she backs off and allows herself to be drawn into the broader conversation.

Time passes more quickly now that she’s seated, surrounded by people who are genuinely happy for her and have no ulterior motive in being there, other than, perhaps, the open bar. Laura joins the group after a while, bearing plates of canapes and drink refills, a good thing as the combination of champagne and an empty stomach is beginning to make Diane feel a bit light-headed.

Laura sits, and they, along with Liz, who is a social worker who often testifies in court cases, get caught up in a debate regarding a child endangerment case currently before the courts.

“He never should have been released into her custody,” Liz states emphatically at one point, arguing on behalf of the social workers involved in the case.

“But that’s the law, Liz,” Laura insists. “The fact that it ended badly doesn’t mean the judge was at fault. She had no choice.”

Diane is about to speak up to agree with Laura when she happens to glance to her left where she finds Kurt is deep in conversation with one of the other women. His chair is now turned in her direction as he leans in to speak to her, one hand on his nearly empty drink, the other gesturing between them.

Her eyes narrow. Jane. The youngest woman at the table. The blonde. Apparently some things never do change.

Whatever he’s saying must be hilarious, as Jane throws her head back in laughter, one hand rising to cover her mouth, as the other falls on his and squeezes. Kurt smiles back at her, that flirty lopsided smile of his that has always given Diane butterflies.

“Excuse me,” Diane says, standing suddenly and shoving her chair back abruptly. She wobbles on her high heels for a second, then struts off in the direction of the nearest exit.


	30. Chapter 30

“Diane?”

She hears Laura’s confused voice calling after her, but she doesn’t turn back, walking quickly across the room and out the side exit where she finds herself in some kind of service hallway. She turns randomly in the direction she hopes will lead her back to the public area of the building.

What the hell is _wrong_ with her? _Kurt is only here, being nice to your friends because you asked him to_ , a voice in her head reminds her. _Well, he doesn’t have to be_ that _nice,_ another voice cattily insists.

Angrily she swipes at her eyes as she walks down the hall, searching for a sign directing her to the ladies room. Where the hell is she?

“Hey!” comes a gruff voice from behind her. “Diane, wait.”

She turns to glare at Kurt as he comes striding up behind her, then resumes  walking, but he’s not tipsy in five inch heels, and he overtakes her easily. Grabbing her wrist, he brings her to a halt, turning her around to face him.

“Diane, what’s wrong?” He sounds concerned, confused, but not at all guilty, and that just spurs on her anger.

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong is you were flirting with her!” she accuses, her voice sounding shrill and irrational even to her own ears.

“What?” His eyes narrow and he takes a step forward as his grip on her wrist tightens. “No I wasn’t. I was just talking to her. What was I supposed to do? Sit there silently and adoringly, like good arm candy should?” He’s so close now she can smell the scotch on his breath.

“She was touching you!” she retorts furiously, at the same time as some impartial part of her wonders why.  She knows she sounds ridiculous, unreasonable, crazy,  and yet she cannot stop. He’s hers. _Hers_.

“Right,” he confirms, frustrated. “ _She_ was touching _me_ ; I wasn’t touching her. And if you recall, you knew that would happen. You said so before we even sat down.” He takes a deep breath, releasing her wrist and lifting his hand to rub his forehead and temple, leaving his hair slightly tousled. Her fingers twitch at her sides for wanting to slide through it.  

“Look,” he adds, “it’s been a long day. Let’s just go home, okay?”

He reaches out, tries  to put an arm around her waist to lead her away, but she backs up out of his reach. “No.”

His arms falls back to his side. “No?” He raises his eyebrows. “Okay, you want to go back in, and…”

“No. You’re mine, Kurt. She doesn’t get to touch you.” She does move closer to him now that it’s on her own terms. Jealousy and anger are shifting and mutating, transforming into something else, something that is heating her blood and making her extremities tingle. She takes another step forward and dances her fingers downwards from his chest to his belt buckle. “Mine.”

She can tell the moment he gets it by the way his eyes hood and darken. “Diane,” he growls, reaching out for her, but she evades him again, stepping away while giving him a heated look, then walking past, heading towards a door at the far end of the hallway.

"Diane, wait, this is insane," she hears him hiss from behind her, but she doesn't have to turn around to know he is following her, and that his protest is really only for show. If he had any real complaint, it would have left his mind the moment he took a good look at her strutting away from him. She knows very well what these shoes do for her calves and ass.

She tests the doorknob, little caring what's on the other side so long as it opens. And it does open, revealing a narrow supply closet lined with filing cabinets and shelves. That will do well enough for the purpose she has in mind.

"Diane? Fuck," he exhales in surprise as she pulls him into the dark room, slamming the door shut behind him. It isn't his usual choice of expletive, but she loves when he has good cause to use it.

"That's the general idea," she smirks, taking advantage of his disorientation to push him a few steps backward, pinning him against the door.

It's almost pitch dark with the door closed, and until her eyes adjust to the thin strip of light under the door she can barely make out the contours of his body, but she doesn't bother looking for the light, doesn't need it to know her way around him. She kisses him roughly, her tongue sliding into his mouth with no preamble, swallowing the words she has no interest in hearing. He responds immediately and in kind, forgetting whatever it was he meant to say.

She knows this is crazy; he doesn't need to tell her. It was all so instant and instinctive, some wild dark thing inside her overruling her careful conscious mind, sending her into that hallway to escape him, sending her in here now to prove she never will. Crazy, she knows-- _she knows_ \--to think he would ever touch another woman again, but the very thought of it, the _knowledge_ of it... Her stomach twists into knots again, she feels she might be sick, but she tries to force it from her mind. She is just sane and just sober enough to take in what has happened, and all she wants now is for him to drive her so thoroughly crazy she can't think anything at all.

She slides one hand between his legs and grins against his hungry kisses, squeezing his hardening length over the material of his pants. He lets out a growl of surprise, but presses himself into her palm, encouraging her to continue. It's so base and unbecoming, she hates to admit it, but this is what she needs now to quiet those recriminating voices, to banish from her mind the parade of faceless young blondes. Later there will be words of understanding and affirmation but now she needs only this: his hands rough and greedy on her, his cock filling her, claiming her, _her_ , and only her.

She works at his belt and the fastenings of his pants, fumbling where she would like to make quick work of him, too keyed up and clumsy from inebriation. She squirms away from his reach, shouldering his hands aside as he tries to make the same move for the clasp at the back of her dress. She is in control here, and if he doesn't understand that by now he had better soon.

"Diane, what...?" he asks in frustration after she shakes him off for a third time, his arms dropping heavily at his sides.

She smiles back at him, leaning in to kiss him again, more slowly and purposefully now but ending with his bottom lip caught between her teeth, a warning. She finds the zipper of his pants and pulls it down excruciatingly slowly, pulling back to watch his expression change as she goes. His eyes drift closed and he leans forward to recapture her mouth, breathing hard in anticipation. With her free hand she shoves him against the door again, the other hand slipping under the waistband of his pants and closing around his cock.

"Mine," she whispers, leaning in again to kiss him slowly, her lips matching the pace of her hand, gliding up and down him. Her grip is possessive, almost too tight to be strictly pleasurable.

He groans into her mouth as he gives in to her, his hips moving in time to the rhythm she sets, small controlled movements at first quickly giving way to long seeking thrusts.

"Mine," she asserts more loudly, stilling her movements and grasping him hard, trailing little nipping kisses along his lips and jaw.

He pushes against her and lets his head fall back against the door, affirming through gritted teeth, "Yes. Yours."

She laughs, low and throaty and almost sinister, releasing her hold on him just long enough to pull his pants free of his hips. Her hands snake around to grasp his ass for leverage as she lowers herself, her eyes wide and hungry, wanting to devour him, torture him until the only word that still makes sense to him is her name, and she won't relent until he screams it a thousand times. Her nails dig into his skin, past the point where she knows he likes it, harder until he knows she means it. His hands close around her shoulders as she makes him cry out, pushing her down slowly, welcoming his fate.

But a moment later he is pulling her up with a rumbling growl like an animal attacked, and she is so dizzy from drink and desire she barely knows what has happened before he has her on her feet, whirls her around, and pushes her against the door with a hard thud. They are both breathless, panting, and he holds her there for what feels like an eternity, his hands on either side of her, not touching her, not allowing her to touch him. She lunges forward and attempts to kiss him, but he pulls back, evading her and pressing her back against the hard surface again. Her hands reach out to pull his hips to her and he shifts his grips to her arms, pinning her back.

"Come on," she prods him, but it comes out more of a plea than the command she had intended.

She needs him to kiss her, ravage her, take her standing here and now, god, _anything_ just so she doesn't have to see this look on his face a moment longer, his eyes full of lust, yes, but also pain and confusion. Even in his own half-drunk haze he is driven first by the need to understand her and that is the very last thing she wants, to understand any of this now. God she wishes he would stop trying to be good to her for just one minute and give her what she _needs_.

"Come on," she says again, a whisper this time, desperate, and if he won't let her touch him, she has at least enough space to gather the material of her own dress, slowly pulling it up to her waist. He swears softly as he casts his gaze downward, taking in the straps of her garter belt and then, as she lifts it still higher, realizing that is all she is wearing. He does not resist as she hooks one leg around his, pulling him closer as his hand runs roughly up her thigh.

She'll be damned if she’ll say it a third time, but she lets out a little whining noise as she takes advantage of his distraction and pulls him hard against her. His cock slides against her wetness and their hips collide roughly, one last hitched breath telling her he has lost his mind and his last ounce of restraint. He slips his hands under her dress to grab her ass and hoist her up and she follows, trusting him to hold her or little caring if he can't, her thighs a vise around his hips. He moves her flush against the door to shift some of the weight off him, carefully watching her reaction when he realizes by the sound of the door rattling in its frame that he has pushed her more forcefully than he intended. She grins back at him, loving it, her hips urging him on, and when his expression shifts from concern to excitement she sees he has understood at least what she wants, if not why.

"Yeah I'm yours," he mutters as he buries himself inside her, filling her with his first thrust and pushing her hard against the door with every jerk of his hips that follows.

She moans, distantly aware of how loud she is already but little caring, lowering her face to his neck and cradling his in her own. She opens her hips wider for him, the heels of her Louboutins pushing his pants further down and scratching his skin as they go, one after the other catching on the material and falling clattering to the floor. This is what she wanted, all of him, wild and urgent, narrowing her focus until all she can see, feel, think is _him_ surrounding her, filling her, and knowing there is nothing else in the world for him but her.

"I always wanted to be yours," he grunts out between thrusts, and it is probably a mindless utterance in this game they seem to be playing but this volley hits her as an accusation, sudden and stinging. She is torn in two at the sound of it, furious and guilty, resentful and ashamed, wanting to punish him for acting like the hurt party now, and wanting equally to soothe him for not knowing it was true herself before it was too late.

She is angry and sad and thinking too much suddenly and that wasn't the point of this at all. It isn't working; it is making it very much worse. She would play the game if it would put right what has gone all at once so completely wrong, toss off a petulant ‘ _make me yours’_ or ‘ _then show me_ ,’ but the words die in her throat. The game isn't fun anymore: it isn't enough to make her mind stop. She runs her hand through his hair and pulls on it, hard, making him press her harder against the door. She tries to focus again on this, them, now, trying to make it enough.

 _Why can't she just let go?_ Her hands curl into fists, angry with herself more than anything that she just can't make it work this time. They have had sex in anger before; this was nothing new. It had always been their favorite way to resolve an argument, heated words turning in a moment to heated breath and before long they were tearing into one another, the reasons long forgotten. But this is not like that, not exactly; this is more like --

She clenches her eyes shut, willing the thought away, willing him to make it go away. To make it somehow not relevant anymore, no longer part of who they are, and if he can't do that then to fuck her until she forgets. She holds on to him for dear life, her fingers gripping his shoulders so tightly he growls in pain. He gets the message again, plunging into her quicker, harder, but it is not enough to displace the memory of that last time, when she had tried and tried to want this until finally she pushed him away, and then he was gone.

"I want you, Kurt," she whispers, her voice faltering, affirming it for herself as much as for him.

"I know," he growls, his pace quickening again.

"Please don't stop," she says, holding onto him tighter, blinking back tears that have sprung out of nowhere, or perhaps should have come long before she started this. Everything it occurs to her to say sounds like a pornographic cliché, but she doesn't have the words to say exactly what she means just now: _I want you forever. Don't ever stop. Stay with me. Don't ever leave again..._ For now, she just holds on.

She wishes she had had just one drink more or many fewer; whatever number she has had tonight was an error in judgment to say the least, making her crazy enough to start this, and leaving her too painfully lucid now to finish it. Something has snapped and now she knows she won't come, she can't come, but she won't let go until he does. She runs her hands over his body, soothing over the places she has pulled and scraped and squeezed too hard, the places she expects to find scratches and bruises in the morning, softly kneading her apology into his skin.

"Diane -- I can't --" he chokes out, and she knows he's on the edge, would wait there for her forever if he could.

"I know," she whispers, smoothing his hair back down. "Go on. I want you to come."

She doubts he could have done anything else if she had asked, but he comes on command, grunting and jerking his hips as he releases inside her, his heaving breaths muffled against her neck.

She holds him until he has recovered and slides out of her, steadying her as her feet find the floor again and she adjusts to a normal standing position. Every muscle in her body aches and her head is pounding, too; grimly, she supposes it's all she deserves. She clears her eyes of any hint of tears before glancing over at him, exchanging a slightly embarrassed look. He seems to be as suddenly sober as she is now, both shocked out of whatever possessed them.

"Well -- that was..." He exhales, at a loss for words.

"A bit of an overreaction," she finishes sheepishly, but watches him with still keen interest as he pulls himself together.

"I was going to say unexpected," he ventures a small smile, watching her, too, as she tries to smooth out the rather damning wrinkles in her dress. He moves over to help her, brushing her hair back into place, his hand lingering tenderly at her neck. "Diane, you didn't..."

"No, forget it, I didn't want to." She grimaces at how stupid that sounds after all this, then waves it away. "I don't know what I wanted."

He studies her for a long time, trying again to make sense of the things she has not said. When he cannot, he simply asks, "We okay?"

She nods without hesitation. That much is certain, and she believes by now will always be: they are okay as long as they choose to be okay, as long as they turn toward one another and not away. But _okay_ does not mean they have solved everything, and she knows now they have not. Not nearly.

"Yes," is all she says for now, leaning her forehead against his, hoping that is enough. "We'll talk later. But we're okay."

She breathes easily for a moment before it occurs to her that she is not the only one this has happened to. "As long as you...?"

"Of course," he confirms, pressing against her in return. "We're okay."

"I have to go back," she sighs, pulling away from him miserably. "Just for a minute. Then we can go home."

She reaches out for his hand, her eyes searching his for any sign of trouble, fear, or mistrust, but she finds only Kurt, reverent and resolute, always, her Kurt.

He takes her hand. "Let's go."

 


	31. Chapter 31

Diane wakes to the sun shining through the curtains into her eyes, aggravating the piercing pain behind her right eye. She rolls to one side, trying to escape the glare and fall back to sleep, but it’s no use. Now that she’s awake, she can’t ignore her body’s demands. Reluctantly, she throws off the sheet covering her and limps to the bathroom as the muscles up and down her legs scream in protest. It’s a moment before her muddled, hungover brain remembers why and, as she stops to lean on her hands against the counter, her stomach rolls over in disgust. She closes her eyes to the memory of the closet at the party, her ridiculous need to mark Kurt as her own like some kind of animal in heat. Using sex as a salve to soothe negative emotions was exactly what they were supposed to have grown beyond.

She relieves herself, then washes her hands, eyes down, avoiding the mirror above the sink. She knows she looks like hell, doesn’t particularly need or want the confirmation. Opening a drawer in the vanity, she finds a bottle of aspirin and throws back two, washing them down with a glass of water, and then drinks another for hydration. After refilling the glass a third time, she picks up the bottle of painkillers. She’s not the only one who’s going to need them.

Kurt is still asleep when she emerges from the bathroom. Shirtless, he’s sprawled on his stomach, head turned away from the sun, mouth slightly open against the pillow. The sheet only covers him up to his hips, and it’s when she walks around to his side of the bed to leave the water and pills on his nightstand that she notices. There are fresh fingertip-shaped bruises dotting his upper arms and shoulders, red scratches criss-crossing his back. She stops dead in her tracks, this physical evidence of her weakness making her ill. She had hurt him last night, physically hurt him, and the worst part is those battle scars are probably the least painful part of what she’s done. Shame washes over her again.

She leaves her offerings on the bedside table and adjusts the curtains and blinds, blocking out the sun’s intrusion, and then turns up the central air conditioning, sending a soothing blast of mercifully cool air into the room. Only then does she return to her side of the bed, pulling back the sheet and sliding beneath it, curling up into a ball on the far edge of the bed, careful not to disturb the peace he’s found in sleep.

After leaving the closet last night, they had returned to the main room only long enough to say their goodbyes. The party had mostly wound up in their absence, with less than a dozen people left milling around the room. Laura was among them; the yoga ladies, fortunately, were not. Not exactly sober herself, Laura had focused in on her mussed hair and smudged makeup, completely missing their sombre demeanours. She had smirked knowingly as she hugged them goodbye.

They rode home in the car Eli had hired for her, the silence pressing down on her until she was no longer been able to hold back the tears of embarrassment that filled her eyes. As they spilled down her cheeks, Kurt’s hand crept across the back seat of the car to cover hers. She had clung to him like a lifeline for the remainder of the drive.

Once home, they went about their nighttime routines, not silently, but not talking about anything that mattered either, honoring their unspoken agreement to sleep first before working through this setback. Regret settled over Diane like a heavy wool blanket as she lay in bed wishing she could turn back time. Things had been going so well; perhaps, she thought, she had grown complacent. Perhaps this was what it would always be like, feelings sneaking up on her when she least expected them. If that was the case, she would learn to live with them, because he was worth it, worth all the torment her own mind could summon.

“I love you, Diane.” His words had echoed through the darkened room, filling her heart and reassuring her that no matter how dark she felt, he was her light, and together, they would endure.

The next time she awakens, it’s to Kurt rustling beside her. Rolling over, she finds him tossing two aspirin into his mouth and downing the entire glass of water in one go. Wincing, he sets the glass back down on the nightstand, then gingerly twists from side to side, his hand falling to his lower back, fist digging in hard.

“Good morning,” she croaks, rising up on one elbow. Her headache has dulled to the point that it’s more the memory of pain than anything else, but the fear of recurrence colours her movements and keeps her eyes at half-mast.

“Morning,” he says, as he eases himself back down, one hand still pressed against his back. His face is etched with pain.

She frowns. “Are you okay?”

“It’s nothing,” he says, his dismissive tone unconvincing in light of his actions. “Pulled something in my back, I think. I’ll be fine when the drugs kick in. Thanks for that, by the way.” He settles back against the pillows, his hand finding hers and squeezing.

“You're welcome,” she says distractedly. Obviously, he hurt his back last night. Of course he did; apart from everything else, they’re both too old for acrobatics like that. God, what had she been thinking?

She flops onto her back and exhales up to the ceiling, eyes falling closed.

“Stop it,” he says, tugging on her hand.

She opens her eyes again and turns her head to look at him. “Stop what?”

“Blaming yourself because I forgot I’m not as young as I used to be. First, it’s not that bad. And second, it was worth it. If that was what you needed, it was worth it. And hey,” he jokes, “It’s not like I didn’t get anything out of it.” He pulls her hand again until she rolls toward him and gingerly curls up against his side, trying not to jostle him. His arm comes down to hold her to him and he kisses the top of her head.

She knows he means every word, but he’s saying them now with the knowledge that they’re both still here, together, rock-solid in the light of day. He didn’t know that last night. She won’t soon forget the look in his eyes, when she knew he was remembering the last time she had begged him to use his body to make her forget. If their marriage had died the night he slept with another woman, then  _ that _ night, the night she recoiled from his touch and sent him away, had slid closed the eyes on the corpse. It must have felt hauntingly similar to him last night; it certainly had to her.

“I don’t know what got into me, Kurt,” she says quietly. “I thought I was past all of that, but when I saw you talking to Jane, I just…I don’t know. Something snapped.” She slides her hand up his bare chest. “You weren’t doing anything wrong. Neither was she; that’s just Jane. She touches people. Flirts. Men, women, whoever she’s talking to.”

“I feel so special,” he deadpans, a transparent attempt to lighten the moment.

She snorts, taps him lightly on the arm, then turns her head to kiss his bare chest. “You’re special to me.”

His hold on her tightens and his fingers slide up her arm to tangle in her hair. “And you’re the only one I want to be special to. That’s always been true. You know that, right?”

She nods against his chest, not trusting her voice. There are things that still need to be said, confessions they’ve danced along the edges of but never outright discussed. If they are going to move forward, there are truths that need to be acknowledged first.

“What are you doing today?” she asks, easing back from the edge. She needs coffee, a shower, time to prepare before she can tackle this. But tackle it she will. They can withstand another night like last night, she knows that now; they can withstand anything. But they shouldn’t have to. It’s time to get the last of their issues out on the table.

He rolls his head to check the clock. It’s already past eight. “Got a meeting with the Dean at ten about what classes they want me to teach this fall. Then I thought I’d go visit Deb. How about you?”

“Eli,” she says, knowing the name alone is enough of a description of how her day will proceed. Her phone has buzzed several times already, and though she hasn’t looked at it, she knows it’s him, eager to get her campaign up off the ground.

He harrumphs in sympathy and they fall silent for several minutes while she thinks about what she wants to say. She had been hoping to talk that morning, but it doesn’t look like either of their commitments will allow for it. It will have to wait until that night, but  _ that night _ it will be. No longer.

“Are you coming back here tonight?” she asks, her voice coming out smaller than she means it to for such a casual question.

He looks at her, surprised. “I intended to. Do you not want me to?” His hand stills against her arm.

“No, no. You have a lot of driving today, that’s all. I thought we could split the difference, and I could meet you at the farm after Eli finishes with me.” The suggestion has come to her, fully formed out of the air, but now that she’s spoken the words, the more committed to them she is. There is something soothing about the thought of sharing what might be difficult words while sitting in the old porch swing on the veranda off the kitchen, looking at the stars, instead of the pain in his eyes.

He appears to consider this, fingers trailing again lightly up and down her arm as he thinks. “You wouldn’t mind?” he asks at last.

“Not at all.” She shifts, bringing her foot into contact with his, sliding her toes under his arch until he shivers. “We have to talk, you know.”

“Yeah,” he agrees wearily. “I know.”


	32. Chapter 32

"That was good," Kurt says, setting down his fork and dabbing at his moustache with his paper napkin.

"Not bad considering what little you have in your kitchen," she laughs, poking at what’s left of her pasta before setting down her own utensil.

She watches him intently as he drains the last of his iced tea, the smile gradually fading from her face. They have spent the last hour and a half catching one another up on their days as they scraped together a makeshift dinner and enjoyed it at a leisurely pace. They spared no detail in discussing Eli's manic planning, Debbie's predictable hostility but evident progress, what his workload would be like getting ready for the upcoming semester, the particulars of each of their drives. The conversation is comforting in its banality, the sort they might have every day, each perhaps intending to assure the other that if they can get through tonight, that's just how it would always be.

But she recognizes that a word more along that line would be a very obvious stalling tactic now. It is time.

"Why don't we worry about the dishes later?" She stands, now that she has found her courage, unwilling to delay any longer. She moves around the table in front of him, reaching out her hand.

He accepts it, knowing exactly what it means, and equally ready to face it.

"I thought it would be nice to sit outside," she says, leading the way back through the kitchen. "I've missed the view of the night sky you get out here."

"I enjoy it a lot more with you." He follows her out the sliding glass door to the veranda that looks out over his land, now brushed with shadows from the fading light. All the remains of the sunset is the coda, the edge of the horizon just barely tinted a mellow pink-purple.

His tone is lighthearted enough but Diane can't help but feel there is a story behind those words, though perhaps not one they need to dwell on tonight. Her mind conjures an image of him sitting alone on the porch swing, working on his third or fourth beer, staring up at the sky, doing nothing but basking in his misery. She knows it got bad for him; she doesn’t need to hear the gory details to guess. It ended, after all, in a heart attack.

She forces the thought away, taking a seat. They are here together now, strong and whole, and that much, she knows, is not going to change.

He groans a little as he sits beside her, easing down slowly, then stretching until he finds a comfortable resting position, the hand closest to her finding purchase on her knee.

"Sorry for that," she says quietly, flashing him a guilty smile at the care he’s still taking with his back.

"'s all right."

"It's the least I have to apologize for, anyway."

"Hey, don't do that," he says, his voice gentle, but firm. "Whatever else you may have to say, please don't apologize." His fingers tap against her knee for emphasis.

She looks over at him sideways, one eyebrow raised dubiously. "The fact that you screwed up once doesn't mean I never have to apologize for anything again."

"No,” he says carefully, “but when it's a direct result of my screw-up, you can imagine how it's hard for me to hear."

She considers this, staring out over his property in the twilight. She isn't sure she disagrees, not entirely – but this problem she’s focussing on now overlaps with yet is larger than the affair, began before the affair, and that is what she needs to be sure he understands. It's true she never would have gone to such an extreme otherwise, and she certainly won't apologize for what he has done, but she needs to acknowledge her own actions. And she needs him to acknowledge them, too.

"All right, I won't say I'm sorry. But I do regret it. I'm so ashamed of how I reacted last night."

She can tell he wants to argue, feels him tense and then relax beside her. But he stops himself, perhaps -- she hopes -- reminding himself to understand her, not excuse her. He settles on simply asking: "What happened?"

She pauses, thinking of how best to convey her feelings, muddled as they were at the time by drink and emotion, but with a basis in reality that is true even now. "When I saw you talking to Jane,” she begins, slowly. “I just…I snapped. I don't know what else to call it. Rationally, I _know_ you had no interest in her. I _know_ that's not going to happen again. But in that moment..." She shakes her head, a wave of disgust washing over her again.

"I scared you," he observes, his voice quiet and rough. "Fear isn't rational."

And that’s the rub, she supposes. She’s been the rational one her whole life, in every area but this. "The thing is -- I've been afraid, I've been jealous, long before I had any reason to be. I worried about your friends, your students. That's something inside me I need to examine -- how I feel, how I react."

He goes quiet again, and she knows he is still deeply uncomfortable with the idea that she should be the one to change anything after what he has done. But if they are going to make this work she has to, and he cannot honestly argue otherwise. And maybe that’s the rub for him too. He knew before they were ever married that this was something she struggled with, and what had he done but dive down to meet the lowest of her expectations?

"I have to manage my own reactions, Kurt," she insists, gently countering the unvoiced argument going on in his head. "I can't very well tell you that you can't talk to another woman, ever, for any reason."

"No, of course not," he lets out a hard laugh at this obvious exaggeration. "But I also don't want to throw it in your face. I could have been more aware last night, more sensitive..."

"Maybe. I don't know. You were just being yourself, you shouldn't need to second-guess yourself all the time." She sighs, knowing it goes a lot deeper than that. “We thought we were okay. We thought we’d talked about everything, and we could just move on. But we’ve been living in our own little bubble these past few weeks.” She laughs suddenly as the words click into place in her memory. “You’d think I’d remember my own words. I said that to Fran and Lyle a million years ago, and they tried to throw it back at me when I was about to marry you.”

“What was that?”

“‘Make sure your love can survive outside the bubble.’” She shakes her head ruefully. “I was prepared to fight for us against the press, Eli, your sister. But I don’t think I gave a lot of thought to how it would be, just going through _life_.”

"That's the worst part of it, isn't it? I'm afraid..." He trails off briefly, battling with himself over saying it out loud, but knowing that is what they have agreed to: to speak the truth, no matter how ugly. "No matter what, it will always be in the back of our minds. It's never going to stop being _there_."

"Maybe we just need to accept that," she says softly. "Maybe time doesn't heal all wounds. Maybe we will always have a sore spot."

"Can we live that way?" His eyes are focused on some distant point in front of him as he speaks, but his thumb strokes lightly against the side of her knee, keeping them connected even in his unease.

She has asked herself the same question all day, always the question her thoughts returned to as she considered everything she needed to say to him tonight. Everything they are struggling with comes back to that one question.

"I can," she says, certain of this much in the face of so much uncertainty. "It's worth it. _You're_ worth it."

"I don't want to keep hurting you, Diane."

She covers the hand at her knee with her own, sliding her fingers through the gaps between his. "It isn't like that. It isn't constantly on my mind. I don't think of it every time I see you. I don't worry it's ever going to happen again. If I have to deal with my reactions once in a while, I can do that."

He sighs heavily, appreciating but little encouraged by her words. "I don't want this to haunt us for the rest of our lives. It isn't constantly on my mind either, but I don't feel absolved. I still look in the mirror sometimes and feel like the worst kind of scum."

"Oh, Kurt. Don't do that to yourself."

He shrugs, looking off again. He can't very well turn it off.

"Never thought I was that guy. Least of all to be that guy to you... _That_ guy? He _is_ scum. I can’t undo that now. I'm never going to stop being that guy."

"I don't see that guy when I look at you." She wishes he could see himself, just once, through her eyes. He made a mistake, a terrible, hurtful one, but that mistake is such a small part of all that he is to her. No one should be forever defined by the worst thing they’ve ever done. She doesn’t want him to define himself that way. As a wise man once told her, people are always more than one thing.

“Until, every once in a while, something happens to remind you,” he says quietly, without a hint of accusation in his voice, only complete honesty.

And that she cannot refute. The reminders come and go; they had come often enough before last night, less dramatically, easier to take in her stride. She should not expect herself to be over it. Perhaps there is no getting over it, only learning to live with it. Maybe it’s like anything else that happens to change someone’s life for the worse,  that hurts them, that damages them in some irrevocable way.

Like with Will. Sometimes she thinks of him, her friend and her partner, and only remembers the good times. Other times she remembers the bad, the battles and betrayals on both sides, but finds some new perspective. Weeks and months can go by that she doesn’t think of him at all, and then when she’s deep in concentration, working on a case, she’ll look up, pondering some fine point of law and see Laura instead of Will, sitting in the office across from her, and the pain and grief will steal her breath and nearly knock her from her chair.

The pain will never fully go away, and she has never expected it would. Never wanted it to. The pain means the loss was real, that Will was real, and was important to her. Why would she ever stop grieving him, even if it’s not on the surface all the time?

Why should the loss of their marriage be any different? Why should she… they… ever stop grieving entirely? That is what they have to recognize, she is beginning to understand. There is nothing wrong in missing something you’ve lost, even when there is something new to take its place. Laura became her new partner and that relationship is important in its own right, just as important as her relationship with Will, but it doesn’t erase her loss. No one expects it to. The new relationship she and Kurt are building now is wonderful, important, and brings her so much joy, but it doesn’t erase the loss of their marriage. Why should they expect it to?

“I do think about it, once in a while. Obviously -- I can’t deny it. Maybe I always will, but Kurt, that doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Our marriage was important to us, both of us, and when it ended, we lost something special. Of course the pain from that loss will never entirely go away.”

She is about to continue, to explain that eventually, as they build a new life together, the joy of what _is_ will replace the pain of what could have been, but when she looks over at him, he doesn’t appear to be listening.

He stares straight ahead, his breathing too deep and even to be spontaneous. Even in the dim light from the kitchen windows behind them, she can see his eyes are moist and streaked with red. The hand that isn’t entwined with hers now forms a fist that bounces rhythmically against the seat of the swing beside him.

“Kurt?” she asks, alarmed. “Are you okay?”

He shakes his head, one quick movement, before shaking off her hand and standing, moving over to the porch rail. One hand rises to swipe angrily at his eyes before he settles against the rail, leaning on his forearms, head hanging low.


	33. Chapter 33

“Kurt, talk to me. What’s wrong?” 

Her impulse is to go to him and offer whatever comfort she can. But she knows that’s not what he wants, not just now. Like many men raised in his era and circumstance, losing control over his emotions embarrasses him, the inevitable product of generations of fathers admonishing their young sons with irritated reminders that boys don’t cry.

“Just…just give me a minute,” he says, his voice gravelly. Her own throat constricts in empathy, but she complies, remaining seated and blinking back tears of her own, knowing that is the very last thing he needs to see.

After a few moments he straightens up, inhales forcefully and wipes his eyes again before turning around and walking back to rejoin her on the swing.

“Sorry,” he mutters, easing himself down, but now in the corner of the swing, no longer close enough to touch. She debates for only a second before sliding over until their thighs are touching. Smiling, perhaps in spite of himself, at her gentle nudging, he lifts his arm so she can slide closer still, then rests it over her shoulders.

She allows him to voice what has upset him in his own time, the night surrounding them as silent as it’s ever been as she waits. His fingers slide against her shoulder and her eyes fall closed as the night breeze blows across the veranda.

“That day,” he begins at last. “That day in court when Lucca said those words. The look on your face. The shock, the raw pain I saw in your eyes... Until the day I die, I will never, ever forget that I caused you that pain. The memory of you standing up and walking out of the courtroom will haunt me the rest of my life. And now the idea that it’s going to be the same for you, that you’ll never really heal from what I’ve done to you… I don’t know how I’m supposed to live with that. And I don’t know how you can say it doesn’t matter.”

“Kurt, I…” She tries to interject, to somehow soften the terrible picture he’s painting, but he is on a roll now.

“And to have you find out like that, so publicly, in your place of business, knowing that if I’d just had the balls to tell you myself you wouldn’t have had to go through that, I…”

She has to put an end to this now. He has so much weight already on his shoulders, much of it truly his burden to bear, but not this. This one is hers to share.

"Kurt, I knew about Holly. Before that day, I knew."

"What?" His tone is abrupt, almost harsh in his astonishment. His arm slides from her shoulder as he leans back, half-turning to look at her straight on.

"Oh, I didn't know it was her, not at first, not until I met her. I didn't know the particulars, but I knew. When you came back and everything was different, when you said you wanted to move in full-time... Deep down, I knew. I told myself that I was crazy, just like the other times I’d been jealous, but in the back of my mind..." She allows her voice to trail off, not sure how to describe the faintly sick feeling she carried around with when he returned from that last trip to Florida, how it had intensified tenfold when she met Holly with her snide insinuations and long blonde hair.

"I thought we could just start over." He says it in the wistful tone of innocence lost, his head turning slowly from side to side in disbelief of his own naiveté.

"And that's why it was so good for a while -- wasn't it? You were trying so hard; I was trying so hard. I think we made love every night." She watches him for a reaction, a sad smile coming over her face. Those were happy days, and those were horrible days, like a house built on a riverbank, blissfully ignorant of the erosion already well underway.

He returns to his earlier position, his arm sliding back along her shoulders, pulling her closer. She goes willingly, laying her head against his shoulder.

"I was afraid I was losing you, and I wasn't about to ask you, or tell you how I felt," she shakes her head, her hair tangling against his t-shirt. "I just made damn sure you still wanted me. I had to confirm it over and over and over. And I guess that's what last night was about, too. Jane might turn your head, but I had to know you still wanted  _ me_."

"I always have, Diane. That's never changed."

"I know. There's nothing more you have to say or do to prove it to me. I already know it, I do. Your words, your actions prove it to me every day. That’s what I mean when I say it’s worth it. What we have is worth occasional rough spots. I mean, we tried living apart, Kurt. Were you happier that way?”

“You know I wasn’t, but it’s not my happiness I’m concerned with.” He lets the comment hang there for a minute and she fights her impulse to argue with him. His happiness is just as important as hers, but she can’t argue him into believing that. He has to come to it on his own. 

She lets his words settle around them, accepting them for what they are: his honesty. She has fought for this, and she treasures it now that he has offered it. She certainly won't refuse it now, even if it hurts them both. It is  _ him_, unguarded and unreserved, sparing her nothing and not trying to be anything else for her. This was the man she had missed so desperately. No -- she will not argue with that at all.

"While we're telling each other everything," she begins again after a few minutes pass, "I suppose there's just one more thing I need to say to you."

She looks up at him for a moment, finding him staring blankly but calmly ahead, open, she thinks, to hearing this last word. She returns her head to his shoulder, closing her eyes softly as she collects her thoughts, soothed by the rise and fall of his body as he breathes.

"I never wanted to lose you. Not ever. Not even through the worst of it," she insists with quiet vehemence. "I didn't know what to do with that, and obviously I failed at coming to terms with it for a long time. But that’s the truth."

Some small hitch in his breath tells her he is struggling to reconcile this thought with everything else he knows, but he says nothing. Just as quickly he resumes his steady slow rhythm, and she entwines her fingers with his.

"I knew something had happened, and I was willing to ignore it. It wasn't a healthy response, and it never would have worked, but oh, I tried. Because I didn't want to lose you."

She turns toward him and rests her chin on his shoulder. She has lost all interest in the stars and the pasture now, attuned only to the sound of his breathing, the warmth of his skin.

"And then after..." she trails off.  _ After _ scarcely needed to be defined. "I know I called you every name in the book. I threw things, I raged. I meant it all, too. But I still didn't want to lose you."

She pauses, giving him a chance to react, squeezing his hand when he does not.

"And I knew it. I didn’t want to admit it, I wanted desperately for it to not be true. I would have preferred to stop loving you, to really mean it when I told you to go. But I couldn't. So then I tried to listen, started to hope instead that you would say the magic words that would make it all all right. I would have tried anything then. I don't know if you know that, Kurt. I'm sure it didn't seem like it. But I tried so hard, I pushed and I pushed until I pushed us right over the cliff."

Tears well up in her eyes now, and she blinks them back before they fall hot on his shoulder. She did not intend to cry, not now, not at this, but she finds herself overwhelmed by the realization now that she sees it, what seems to be the through-line in ten long years of loving him.

"I didn't want to lose you. But I didn't know how to live with you, either. And I don't think we could have fixed it then, no matter what we did. I needed this time." She realizes she is holding his hand almost too tightly and relaxes her grip, her voice softening, too. "But I'm here now, Kurt. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere."

Long moments pass, minutes perhaps, she does not know, her body rising and falling with his, breathing as one.

"That's the way it's always been: I didn't want to lose you, but I didn’t know what to do about it. I didn't want to lose you when we started, but I had no idea how to show you, and then you ran away, and then I ran away, and oh, it seems so silly now. But I never wanted that, not from the start. And once I finally figured out how to tell you I wanted you,  _ always_..." She pronounces the word fiercely, squeezing him in reassurance. "That’s when I started worrying about losing you even more -- your friends, your students. But we've been all over that," she says lightly, letting it pass.

She lets her head fall back down to his chest, her hand still entwined with his. She can tell by his breathing he is becoming emotional again, too, and she won't look if he doesn't want her to. But she won't let go, either.

"Until recently, I thought it was a weakness in me, to be so afraid of losing you. Maybe that's why I never showed you properly. Diane Lockhart, weak? For a man, at that? Ha!" She lets out a loud explosion of breath, then turns to place a kiss against his chest. "But I know now, it makes me stronger. It makes me whole. I guess I never had anything worth holding on to that tightly to before you."

She pulls herself up to sit straight at his side again, letting him see her, as unguarded as he has been, her face showing him all the pain and hope and regret and love that have made her the woman she is now.

"When I was at my lowest, I wanted you to speak those magic words to make everything all right again, and that was never going to work. I needed time to understand this, time not only to make peace with it, but to find joy in it. If you're concerned about my happiness? Oh, Kurt. You make me so happy. You have no idea."

She beams back at him, a smile that is unreservedly happy, in no way undermined by all those other things that exist within her, too. And she thinks for a moment he is starting to really see, the corners of his mouth slowly turning upward too, not just in reflection, but in understanding.

"So I can't say those magic words to you now. But I can give you that time. I'm still going to be right here. I'm sure as hell not going to lose you now."

He breaks out into a grin that he tries and fails to suppress, then gives into fully, a twinkle returning to his eye that she has not seen in a long, long time. He raises her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles briefly, hiding his smile against her skin.

"If those aren't magic words..." he shakes his head, laughing.

Tears -- tears of joy, tears of everything -- are stinging at her eyes again, and before she will allow them to overtake her, before she will allow them to bring him to that unwelcome position again, she unclasps her hand from his, running it over his cheek and into his hair, pulling his lips to hers. He turns toward her, his arms settling around her waist and encouraging her still closer, returning her kiss as if it supplied the very air he needs to breathe.

And he is slightly gasping when he pulls back, his forehead still pressed to hers, unwilling to part now, but needing to say only this. "I love you, Diane."

"I love you, too," she whispers, her words muffled as she pulls him back to her before they have been fully voiced. That last and most important truth now spoken, they find there is nothing left to say tonight at all.


	34. Chapter 34

Diane rushes from her bedroom to the kitchen, phone wedged against her ear with her shoulder as she fastens her watch around her wrist. “Yes, Eli. Yes,” she says into the phone, her calm voice not betraying her frantic actions. “I know. I’ll be on time.”

A burst of agitated gibberish comes through in response, or at least gibberish is all she can perceive as she picks up the coffeepot and sloshes half a cup into her mug. “Eli, I have to go or I _will_ be late. Eli…” She pulls the phone away from her face and looks at it in astonishment. “He hung up on me.”

From his seat at the breakfast bar, Kurt tries to suppress a smile. With someone who didn't know him as well, he may well have succeeded, but she can see the amusement lighting his eyes and the slight twitch of his lips that isn’t completely disguised by his moustache.

“Why are you laughing at me?” she asks, more playfully than actually cross. “Don’t laugh when it’s your fault I’m late.”

“You just said you weren’t late,” he reminds her.  “And I don’t recall any complaining at the time.” He winks and picks up his own coffee cup, draining the last swallow.

“And I’m not complaining now,” she assures him, walking over to stand in front of him. She sets her mug on the bar beside his. “But I’m definitely going to be late…unless perhaps some kind gentleman would care to drop me off on his way so I don’t have to wait for a car?”

Not waiting for an answer, she slides her arms around his shoulders and leans in close, waiting for him to complete the motion. His hand slowly rises, trailing along her arm and shoulder and landing at the back of her head, pulling her to him for a scorching kiss.

"I guess I could do that," he replies when they separate. "Are you ready to go?"

She gulps back half of her coffee then sets the mug down next to the sink. “As I’ll ever be.”

“Who is it today?” he asks as he stands and walks to the hall and retrieves her coat from the rack. He turns and holds out Diane’s as she comes walking up behind him. It’s been cool for mid-October, with temperatures hovering in the forties for the past week. She slides her arms into the sleeves and he settles it over her shoulders, then flips her hair out from under her collar.

“Teachers’ Union first, then Mothers Against Drunk Driving this afternoon. I never thought I would be so tired of hearing my own voice,” she adds wryly.

Kurt chuckles as he dons his own jacket. “Well, it will be over soon.”

“One way or another,” she agrees. The election is still a couple of weeks away, and already it feels like she’s been campaigning for most of her life: giving speeches, attending rallies, shaking hands, talking to journalists who will invariably misquote her, but who, at least thus far, have refrained from outright attacks.

They walk out the front door to Kurt’s truck parked at the curb. He follows her around to the passenger side and opens the door, waiting until she’s settled before closing it firmly and walking back around to his side and climbing in.

“What’s your schedule like today?” she asks as he starts the truck and maneuvers out of the parking spot.

“Two classes and a faculty meeting this morning. Office hours this afternoon until 2:00. What time is your MADD speech?”

“Three. At McCormick Place.”

He nods. “I’ll try to make it.”

***

It's the same speech Diane has given what feels like hundreds of times before, slightly tweaked each time to suit whatever audience she finds herself in front of. She delivers it by rote now, even the lighthearted, down-to-earth moments carefully orchestrated and timed to perfection. It still amazes her how easily her courtroom style translates to the political realm, but she can read a packed hall of people just as well as she can a jury of twelve, modulating her tone and message to the mood of the room. Eli tells her she has missed her calling, and frequently laments steering her into an office that by its very nature requires the incumbent to campaign only once. If only he had encouraged her to run for Congress instead, they could turn this into a permanent gig and make a killing with donors.

Her eyes flit to the back of the room, where Eli is standing with an assistant. His eyes never leave his phone while he whispers orders to the young woman, but she knows he is taking in every word she says, too, alert for any misstatement he may need to quickly respond to. She contains the urge to laugh as she continues her speech; seeing him in action has given her a new respect for him. Her brain has mastered the art of being two places at once, but he can effortlessly manage three.

"And that's why it is so important to enforce tough sentencing guidelines..." She scans the room as she speaks, making eye contact at random and holding it until she is sure she has their full engagement and support before moving on. Eli is right, of course, and she knows it. She is good at this.

She glances to the last row again and realizes Kurt has wandered in at some point, standing off to the far side of the room, not wanting to disturb anyone by finding a seat after she started. She watches his face change from its usual blank seriousness to a slow-spreading smirk as he sees that she has noticed him. He gives her a little wave, palm barely raised from his cross-armed stance, and she has to look away quickly before she allows herself to grin back at him, suddenly forgetting every word of a speech that has been so thoroughly drilled into her.

She continues, but the thought of him is still there, pulling at her mind, demanding her attention. So much for her facility for multi-tasking, she thinks absently, focusing her attention on the other side of the room just until she has fully composed herself. There is something about the way he looks in that sport coat he wears on teaching days that gets right to her -- pulled-together, authoritative, but relaxed. Still, she can't blame it all on his attire. She responds just the same way when he comes to her more formal events in a full suit, and that one time, recklessly, just after a morning jog, his brow still slick with sweat.

The man had always been one hell of a distraction.

She chances a look back in his direction after making an important point, certain any speechlessness she may feel will pass for a dramatic pause. But when she sees him now his back is turned, his hands up, gesturing wildly. He is talking to someone she can't quite make out.

"What we need -- what we need now..." she falters, her attention now fully focused on the back of the room. Only the knowledge that Eli's death glare must be upon her now shocks her back into her groove.

She goes on speaking on autopilot now, trying to get a good look at who Kurt is with, but she can't see much more than an outline in the semi-darkness behind the cameras and and the press. She watches Kurt turn away again, his arms crossed more defiantly now. The woman he was speaking to steps forward, grabbing his arm, trying to force him to engage with her. As he shrugs her off, Diane sees her finally, her shoulder-length brown hair pulled into a tight ponytail, her face lit with a smug grin, and Diane realizes she knows that woman. She _is_ the press -- that's Karen Fallbrook again.

She doesn't miss a beat, but she is thankful at least that she has come to a powerful part of her speech now, certain that her rising anger will be mistaken for a rousing call to action. She is livid but helpless, imagining the accusations and questions the reporter must be throwing at him to provoke him into giving just the quote she wants. Kurt shakes his arm free and makes some comment, just loud or surprising enough that several heads in the back few rows turn to gawk at or shush him.

Diane turns and locks eyes with Eli, who is giving her his undivided attention now, his face awash in confusion and frustration. Even if she is covering her preoccupation well, he can easily identify the subtle change in her tone, and knows something is happening that he expects at any moment to turn into a full-scale catastrophe. She raises her eyebrows at him meaningfully and inclines her head at the far side of the room, the gesture appearing to the rest of the audience to be nothing more than a dramatic flourish as she delivers an emotional appeal. She glances back at him to confirm that he has understood, and finds him standing there perplexed for only a moment before he turns on his heel to deal with whatever has upset her on the other side of the room.

Powerless from her place on the stage, she watches Kurt withdraw and storm toward the exit, trying not to disrupt her speech any more than he already has. She would find it almost comical if she weren't so concerned, the sight of the reporter struggling to stay on his tail as she pushes past the standing crowd, and then Eli, seeing the trouble now, jogging after them both.

Upset but fully confident both Kurt and Eli can deal with a gnat like her, Diane tries to focus back on the audience. She can sense that she hasn't lost them, that few if any are aware of any disruption in the room or in her own demeanor. Inwardly it is agony, her thoughts elsewhere as her body is held captive at the podium, mindlessly mouthing the words that have become almost meaningless to her in their repetition. After what feels like an eternity she brings her remarks to a close, scanning the audience as they applaud her, not so much acknowledging their appreciation as trying to see if either man has returned.

She steps aside as the moderator approaches, smiling and joining in the applause as she takes the microphone. "Thank you, Ms Lockhart, for that powerful message. And now we'd like to move into the Q&A portion of today's--"

Diane gives a discreet little wave to get her attention, flashing her an apologetic smile. She holds up her hand and mouths the words: _Five minutes?_

The moderator nods and amends, "Let's take a quick break and reconvene for Q&A at half past."

Diane gives her thanks and strides to the back of the stage, exiting into the hallway leading back to the lobby. She slips past the audience members who have started to stream out of the room, looking around for some sight of them. Finally she sees Kurt and Eli huddled in the far corner, Karen already dealt with and gone. She rushes over to join them, knowing Eli can be almost as much of a pain as any reporter, forcing Kurt to give him the full play-by-play as he assesses the damage.

"What happened?" she asks, looking from one to the other as she rests her hand lightly on Kurt's arm.

"He was ambushed by that two-bit tabloid flunky," Eli rants, most upset by the incident of all of them, Diane observes with amusement.

"What did she want?"

"My comment on a profile she's running on you in the Sunday edition," Kurt grumbles.

"Can't believe the Tribune would print such trash! I'm going to call the editor, I'll have that thing yanked..." Eli paces around, his head buried in his cell phone again, turning his attention away from them as he launches into action.

Diane and Kurt exchange a smile of shared incredulity at the other man's reaction. Kurt, for his part, appears to be annoyed but not deeply disturbed by what has happened. His smile deepens and she loses herself in it for a moment, so easily and so thoroughly calmed by him.

"She said it's going to be a positive piece, all about how you have triumphed over adversity," he says wryly. He lowers his voice as he turns to face her directly, so close now she almost forgets there was any trouble at all.

"I'm sure!" she laughs derisively.

"And she was just wondering if I wanted to comment on all the adversity _I'd_ put you through."

"Oh good lord! What did you say?"

"I told her to fuck off."

"Good! I just wish I'd been there to see it."

"I'll give her a round two just for you next time she shows up." He grins wickedly and dips his head even closer but stops just short of contact, pulling back again to a respectable distance.

She bites her lower lip and pushes him away playfully, not sure how even this has turned so easily into some form of flirtation, some form of foreplay. But she has to get back.

"Just forget her," she sighs, hating to break this off. "I don't care what she writes."

"Already forgotten," he says softly, his wandering gaze confirming he feels much the same.With a little groan of regret she pulls away from him. "Twenty minutes of Q&A. Then I'm all yours."


	35. Chapter 35

“Excellent, excellent,” Eli says as the three of them walk to the exit half an hour later. “You’re a natural at this.”

“So you keep saying,” Diane laughs.

“It’s true! I tell you,” he adds to Kurt, “if only I had figured this out earlier, she could be in the Governor’s mansion by now.”

Kurt nods along. He and Eli have found common ground over the past few months in their mutual admiration for her abilities. “If she wanted it,” he agrees, “there’s no doubt in my mind she’d’ve done it.”

Diane just looks from one to the other, amused. The two of them are good for her ego, if nothing else. “But I didn’t want it,” she says lightly. “The law is what I’ve always loved; politics is just an interesting, but temporary, means to an end. I wouldn’t want to do this all the time.” 

They stop beside the black town car waiting along the walkway for Eli. “Now, don’t give that two-bit reporter another thought,” he says as he opens the door.  “I’ll take care of it. Can I drop you two anywhere?”

Kurt shakes his head. “Truck’s in the lot back there,” he says, gesturing off into the distance. They say their goodbyes and Eli gets into the car, which pulls away from the curb with a jerk.

“You’re free for the rest of the day, then?” Kurt asks her as the begin walking toward the parking lot.

“Sure am.” She reaches over and takes his hand. The day has turned out to be fairly nice, a little chilly, but the famous Chicago wind has held itself in check for once. “Any ideas on how we should spend the evening?” She leans into him, allowing their shoulders to collide suggestively.

“You’re insatiable,” he says, voice low and teasing. “I probably don’t even need to jog anymore with all these extra workouts I’ve been getting these last few months.”

“You love it,” she says playfully, knowing it to be the truth.

“You know it,” he says squeezing her hand. “But that’s not exactly what I had in mind.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I thought if you were free, we could head out to the farm tonight. I have to get started on creating midterms for my classes, and it would be easier to do it in the peace and quiet. Maybe we could fit a shooting lesson in tomorrow morning.”

She pulls out her phone from her jacket pocket to confirm what she already knows. “I can go tonight, but not sure about the lesson. I have to be back in town by 9 – strategy meeting with Eli and some others. Raincheck for this weekend? I have a luncheon on Saturday, but then I’m free until Monday morning.”

Kurt nods agreeably, smiling over at her as they reach the truck. “Gives me something to look forward to.” He opens her door, then closes it when she’s settled and goes around to get in himself.

“You know,” she begins as he starts the engine, “I wonder if should…” She leans over to pick up her portfolio from the floor of the truck, thinking aloud about tomorrow’s meeting now that it’s on her mind. But it isn’t there. “Damn it,” she swears, looking around wildly as if it could be hidden somewhere else in the cramped cab. She knows it's back in the auditorium, but hopes for a mad moment it isn't true. If the press are still lurking about and someone gets their hands on it, Eli will kill her, will literally blow her head up with his mind.

“You all right?” he asks, noticing her distress as he begins to pull out.

“I have to go back,” she says, flashing him an apologetic smile. “I forgot something inside.”

“No problem. I'll wait for you by the door.”

He pulls the truck up to the curb and she hops out, half-running with fingers metaphorically crossed that it’s still where she left it on her chair on the stage. There are still several people milling around outside the auditorium, attendees, she thinks from the look of them, not press. A couple of people nod at her in acknowledgment, but no one tries to speak to her. The frantic look on her face must be enough to deter conversation. She’ll make a point of slowing down and being friendlier on her way back, once she’s found her portfolio. Kurt will understand if she’s a little slow to return – every handshake is a potential vote.

Fortunately the door to the room is still standing open and the room itself is empty. She hurries down the aisle toward the stage, eyes on the couple of chairs sitting off to the right where she’d set her belongings. She thinks…yes! It’s still there, on its side on the floor, wedged between the chair leg and the wall.

Reaching the chair, she leans over and pulls it free of its resting spot. The zipper and buckle are firmly closed, and when she opens it up to flip through the contents, nothing seems out of place. Just the various iterations of her standard speech, and who knows what other nonsense she has scribbled down during various meetings.  Breathing a huge sigh of relief, she closes it again and starts back up the aisle. There is nothing in there that could be used against her, she doesn’t think, but it would be embarrassing just to be in the situation.

“Ms. Lockhart, what luck.”

Startled, she looks up to see that reporter, Karen Fallbrook, is now standing in the centre of the aisle about halfway between the stage and the door. Her hands are on her hips, regarding her like a disapproving school teacher.

_ Wonderful_, she thinks, but she dons her best politician’s smile. “Hello. Ms. Fallbrook, is it?”

The other woman smirks knowingly. She clearly has no doubt Diane not only knows who she is, but already knows about the altercation with Kurt. Evidently she hadn’t gone far when Eli banished her earlier.  _ Skulking around the nearest corner, no doubt. _

“Yes, that’s right.” she says. “Could you possibly spare a few minutes for me?”

Diane makes a show of glancing at her watch. “I’m sorry, but I really can’t; my driver is waiting. But you’re welcome to contact my campaign office and make an appointment.”  _ Eli will make sure that’s more difficult than it sounds. _

“Your driver -- would that be your ex-husband?” The reporter doesn’t even make a pretense of waiting for an answer to her question. “I assume he told you about the piece I’m doing on you?”

“Yes,” she confirms, the word short and pointed as she takes another step toward the door.

“Can you confirm then, that you’ve resumed your relationship?” she asks. “That seems to be the general consensus among those I’ve spoken to, so here’s your opportunity to deny it…”

Those she’s spoken to? Diane manages to clamp her jaw down on the question before it emerges. She’s probably making that up, a hook to get her talking. Eli will find out and deal with it if it’s someone working for the campaign. If it’s someone in her personal life, she’ll gladly deal with it herself.

“I have no comment on my personal life,” she says instead. “If you would like to sit down and discuss the issues, as I said, please contact Eli Gold. I believe you met him earlier.”

If the mention of Eli’s name gives the other woman pause, it isn’t for long. Apparently whatever angle she thinks she has is big enough to risk whatever Eli has threatened her with. It will be to her detriment, of this Diane is certain.

“Excuse me,” she says, taking another step toward the exit.

The reporter moves to block her way. “Ms. Lockhart, how long do you think it will be before he cheats on you again? You do know, don’t you, that men like that don’t change? I understand you consider yourself something of a role model, a mentor to younger women, and you’ve certainly done more than your fair share to advance women in the legal profession and in this city. Now that you’re in such a highly visible role, is this the kind of example you want to set for the young girls who look up to you?”

“Is this the kind of trash you make a living throwing around?” Diane tosses back at her, her head high. “Go ahead and run that one by my office. We’re done here.” She turns on her heel and walks back down the aisle to the side exit by the stairs.

*****

"You gonna tell me what happened in there that got you so rattled?" 

Diane looks up sharply from her reading as Kurt reappears in the living room, leaning against the doorway in his usual unassuming manner. She had stolen a few minutes to read up on the briefs and motions in front of the Court in the current session while Kurt cleaned up the kitchen after dinner. But engrossed as she was a moment before, she can't help but smile as she sees his face, setting her papers down on her lap, forgotten.

"I'm not rattled," she says, reaching out a hand and beckoning him to join her.

"No, not since I got you back here." He crosses the room, flashing her a little smile as he takes the piles of papers and moves them to the coffee table. He sits beside her then, letting their joined hands come to rest in her lap where her work had been. "I mean before, after you went back into the auditorium." 

She had wanted to simply let it go, refusing to give Karen Falbrook any more of their time or energy. But clearly she had not completely disguised her change in mood; he just gave her time to work through it.

"It was nothing.  _ Less  _ than nothing. That horrid reporter was still hanging around, that's all." 

He immediately stiffens, as if ready to fight. The response makes her melt in affection for him, only moving her further away from her earlier anger.

"What did she say to you?" 

"About the same thing she said to you, I expect. It isn't worth dwelling on, Kurt, honestly." 

He watches her cautiously for a long moment, then relents when he is satisfied it really isn't weighing on her mind, and sits back against the couch again. Falbrook probably did ask him much the same questions -- wild accusations about cheating, insinuations about what that says about her. All questions they have long since answered for themselves, and nothing anyone else says is going to change that now.

"Well, I still can't believe the Tribune would print such trash," he grumbles, letting it go, but not happily.

"Oh, it'll be a lot more subtle than that in print, I expect, but she'll get her point across. I suppose I should feel lucky if she doesn't have any real dirt on me." 

"I can't imagine what that would be," Kurt laughs lightly.

"No," she agrees, mentally flipping through her portfolio again for anything incriminating or embarrassing, but for the hundredth time coming up with nothing to be concerned about.

"Anyway, you're right, enough about her," Kurt says abruptly, bringing her attention back to the present, back to him. "There was something else I wanted to talk to you about." 

"Anything else, please," she laughs, shifting to turn more directly toward him.

"I was thinking on the drive over -- you were so quiet, I had time to think. Well, I've been thinking about it for a while now." 

He seems suddenly nervous, and she finds it incredibly endearing, although she has no idea what he is hinting at. She forces back the smile that threatens at the corners of her mouth, sensing that whatever it is, he means to be serious.

"Well, like I said, I knew something was wrong, but I knew you'd feel better once we got -- here." 

He falters on the last word, and she gently affirms what she knows he wanted to say. "Home." 

"Yeah," he agrees, grinning, and seeming to gain strength from it. "And I knew that because that's the way it always is now. You're busy, I'm busy, maybe we have a bad day, but once we get home to your place or mine, that all just goes away." 

She is tempted to correct him again -- not  _ your  _ place, not  _ my  _ place -- when it occurs to her that that is exactly what he is getting at.

"I know we're together just about every night anyway, so maybe it doesn't really matter," he goes on, then suddenly takes a stronger tone. "No, it does matter, because we never really did it right before. Diane, I think we should..." He trails off, looking for the right phrase to express what he means, and makes a face as if he is still not satisfied when he settles on one. "Combine our lives." 

She smiles, liking the sound of that very much herself. "I think we should do that, too." 

"Yeah?" he asks, excited now.

"Of course," she confirms, squeezing his hand. "Kurt, before... We were married for three years, and yet it took no time at all to separate our things. I have no idea of doing that ever again, but I know it should be a hell of a lot harder to do." 

She studies his reaction, for a moment regretting bringing it up so directly, but his face betrays no concern, and she knows he is thinking the same thing. They had lived half in and half out of each other's lives for so long, and when he finally told her he wanted to move in the first time it was for all the wrong reasons. They had resumed that arrangement in the months since they reconciled largely as a practical matter, but coordinating schedules and shuttling belongings back and forth had become a headache. Combine their lives, once and for all, and do it right this time -- yes, she likes the sound of that very much indeed.

"So now that we've decided that..." He smiles sheepishly. "I'm not sure what exactly I'm proposing." 

"Well, we should redecorate, we should -- I don't know, maybe look for a new place in the city." 

"Really?" 

"Maybe. Yeah. A place that's  _ ours_. You can't give up the farm, though. It's too perfect for long weekends, holing up here away from everyone, just me and you." She lowers her voice and leans closer to him, her meaning unmistakable.

He kisses her lightly, then pulls back just a little. "If we keep the farm, it'll be ours, too." 

"Oh!" she remembers suddenly, pulling back still more, a hand on his chest to keep him temporarily at bay. "We have to think about after the campaign, too." 

"You'll need a place in Springfield," he says matter-of-factly, as if he has given this much more thought than she has. She has been so caught up in the campaign for the last several months, the reality of the work that followed has almost been an afterthought.

"Well, I don't know. We convene once every other month, and I might need to stay there for a few days, or a few weeks at most. Otherwise I can mostly work from here." 

"But you're not going to stay in a hotel while you’re there," he almost laughs at the thought.

"No. Well, it's just a three-hour commute." 

He does laugh right out loud at that. "You can't drive every day!" 

"Well! I don't..." she drifts closer to him again, slowly until their lips are almost touching. "I don't want to be apart from you for that long, either." 

He sighs, about to reply, when the phone rings, jarring them both out of the moment.

"Saved by the bell?" she asks, laughing.

"The exact opposite. But I guess I'd better get that." With an exaggerated groan, he disentangles himself and stands, walking to retrieve his phone in the other room. 


	36. Chapter 36

She smiles as she watches him walk away and disappear around the corner. It's funny how big a step this seems to be, whatever they decide, wherever they live. It would change nothing, and it would change absolutely everything.

"Well, Deb, that's why you have a sponsor."

Diane's high spirits suddenly drop as she hears a snippet of conversation from the other room, seeing Kurt pacing slowly back and forth, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Everything's going to be fine, look, call her, you know she'll be there in ten minutes. And Joe will be home in a couple hours."

He sits down at the dining room table, his head low, his foot tapping furiously in an agitation he is trying hard not to let show in his voice.

"You know it takes me six hours to get there.... It's not about whether I want to or not, Debbie, I'm too far away, and I have class tomorrow. Look, I can come to visit this weekend, but until then I need you to draw on the support system you have there.... All right, yes, I'll come Saturday.... Yes, if she's free, and if she wants to."

Diane knows what question he is answering, and the snide tone in which it was asked: _Is_ _she_ _coming?_

"Because she's an important part of my life, and I've told you, if you want me to be part of yours...."

She stands and walks over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder in support. He sits up immediately, grateful, smiling back at her a grim but heartfelt smile.

His eyes don't leave hers as he answers Debbie's next question: "No, not yet."

Something about the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice, the certainty in both, makes her heart start racing.

"All right, I'll be there by Saturday evening. Right now, I want you to hang up the phone and call your sponsor, promise me? ... Good. All right. Love ya."

He sets his phone back on the table and collapses in exhaustion, his head in his hands, propped up on his knees. She steps forward until his head rests against her stomach, running her hands gently through his hair, over his shoulders, down his back.

"Is she okay?" she asks softly.

"I think so. I don't know." He sighs and sits up after a few moments. "She will be."

"Don't feel guilty," she says, knowing his insides are churning, doing just that. "What you said to her was absolutely right. You made sure she has support there. You can't be the first person she calls when she needs someone."

"Yeah. I know." He tries to smile but it comes across more of a grimace. The fact that it's logical, the fact that it's true, doesn't help him to feel any better about it.

"You're going down there this weekend?"

"I think I should. I want to visit anyway, it's been a while -- I'm sorry, and I was hoping we might have a nice quiet weekend."

"Please, don't apologize. You want me to come with you?"

He spreads his arms wide, a gesture to quickly dismiss the thought if she prefers to. "I know you have a million things to do."

"I'm free after that luncheon Saturday, I told you. I just wonder -- is it good for her, if I'm there?"

She hasn't seen his sister since that disastrous, aborted weekend before she went into rehab, and she isn't so sure their next meeting is likely to be much more successful.

"We gave her space for the summer. I've gone to see her alone so far. But she needs to know that we're together, and that isn't going to change."

He stands, and she lets her hands slide from his shoulders down his arms until their fingers entwine again. He kisses her lightly and lingeringly before he goes on.

"If you're busy, if you don't want to go, I completely understand. But if not, come with me. I don't want to be apart from you if I can help it -- isn't that about where we left off when she called?"

"I think it was," she grins, and kisses him again. "And I feel the same way. And yes, I'll come."

“Good.” He releases her hands and wraps his arms around her waist, squeezing hard. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she says laughing as she stumbles into him, thrown off balance by his suddenly tight embrace.

He kisses her again, and she melts into him, her eyes drifting closed as she gives herself over to the sensation – not of passion just now, but of affection, respect, love. Of course she’ll go with him. There’s nowhere else she’d rather be.

He ends the kiss with two quick pecks to her lips, then takes two steps back. “I do need to do some work,” he says apologetically.

She sighs melodramatically, but it’s just for show; she should get back to her own reading anyway. But first… “Wine?” she offers, as he retrieves his briefcase from where he left it by the front door and brings it over to the table.

“Beer,” he counters, lips curling up at the corner. “Please.”

She enters the kitchen and pours herself a glass of wine, then retrieves a beer for him from the fridge, thinking idly as she does of how she could make the space a little more hers without making it any less his. New window coverings, certainly. New appliances, perhaps, if they can find some with a certain amount of masculine gadgetry that don’t look too modern. The dining room table…well that will stay. It’s heavy scarred wood, old-fashioned and sturdy, something she never would have thought her style, until one day it just _was_. Much, she thinks, like its owner.

Taking their drinks, she goes back into the living room. He grunts his thanks when she sets the bottle of beer on the small table, already deep in concentration as he types two-fingered on his clunky older laptop.

Taking her glass of wine back to the couch, she steps out of her shoes and sits down, retrieving her papers from the coffee table and then her drink from the end table. Within minutes, her surroundings have faded away as she focuses completely on the brief in her hand.

Two hours later, she's startled out of her concentration by the bleating of her phone. She sets her papers down on the couch beside her and straightens up, feet sliding to the floor. "Where..." she begins, looking around.

"Kitchen," Kurt tells her without looking up. "On top of the microwave."

Padding to the kitchen in her stocking feet, she finds the phone clattering away just where he said it would be. She already knows who it is. Anyone else would have given up by now.

"Yes, Eli," she answers.

"What did she say to you?" he asks without preamble.

"What? What did who say to me?" Her thoughts are still dominated by the obscure points of immigration law raised by the file she'd been reviewing, and she can't quite put Eli's question into context.

"That damned reporter,” he practically shouts in her ear. “I talked to her editor and was informed the story was important, it was going ahead, and _you_ knew why. Do you know _why_ , Diane, do you?"

She sighs. She probably should have called Eli, but at first she had just wanted to put it out of her mind, and relax over dinner with Kurt, and then later, well, she actually _had_ put it out of her mind.

"Sorry,” she says, without much feeling. “Yes, I spoke to her. No, I do not know why the article is so important. Apparently it relates to my personal life which, while important to me, seems to have little bearing on my qualifications for the job."

"Oh come on. You're not that naive. What exactly did she say?"

She wishes she was that naive, but no. The press and voters both will consider her personal life relevant, some even more so than her professional and political credentials. She tells him, word for word, as best she can remember, what Karen Fallbrook said. “She asked if I thought taking Kurt back was setting a good example for younger women who might be looking up to me. I mean good lord Eli, the First Lady of the United States can forgive her cheating husband, but it’s a problem if I do?”

“And it was issue in Hillary’s presidential campaign too, as I recall,” Eli points out. “It’s ridiculous, of course it is, but it lets the public feel superior, which sells papers and ad space.”

Irritatingly, he’s correct, but they both know this conversation is merely venting on both sides anyway. All they can do is wait and then either ignore the article, or do some kind of damage control.

And on that note, she may as well come clean on the rest. She still can't imagine how it could be a problem, but… "There's one more thing. There's a remote possibility she may have gone through my portfolio. I forgot it in the room and it's when I went back to retrieve it that she cornered me. Nothing seemed out of place, but I thought you should know."

There’s a long a pause and when he finally speaks, his voice comes from far away as if he’s pulled the phone away from his mouth. “Jesus Christ, Diane,” he swears. She pictures him pacing around his office, face contorting as he tries to consider all the possibilities at once. “What was in it?”

“Nothing, Eli. A hard copy of the speech, notes on changes for different audiences. Reminders scribbled down in meetings that would make no sense out of context. Some campaign literature. Nothing even remotely confidential or controversial, I promise.”

He’s still muttering under his breath as she tries to reassure him, loud bangs punctuating her words. She decides she doesn’t want to know what he’s doing.

“All she’s interested in dirt is on Kurt and I,” she continues on, “And I promise you that a) there isn’t any more than what is already public knowledge and b) there was no mention of him at all in any of those papers.”

She hears a long, frustrated intake of breath on the other end of the line. “Fine,” he says eventually. “I’ll keep trying to get it pulled, but you had better prepare yourself for the worst. Sunday morning, expect your house to be surrounded by reporters.”

“Oh!” she exclaims, suddenly finding an upside to their weekend plans. “We won’t be here. We’re going to Kurt’s sister’s in Missouri for the weekend.”

“Missouri?” Eli repeats incredulously, as if she had just nonchalantly informed him they were going to camp out under a bridge for a couple of days.

“Yes, Missouri. Just for one night, but that’s where we’ll be when the article comes out. I can’t imagine how anyone would find me there. Debbie’s surname is different and Kurt hasn’t lived in the area for decades.”

“Okay. Fine, good.” Clearly, he’s lost interest in the subject. “Bring your portfolio to the meeting tomorrow. I want to see what’s in it.”

Diane promises she will, knowing he won’t rest easy until he’s seen for himself there’s nothing there, and disconnects.

Kurt is still pecking away at his keyboard, squinting at the textbook open to one side of the table when she walks back into the room. “When’s the last time you had your eyes tested?” she asks, only partly teasing.

As expected, he ignores her question and asks one of his own. “Eli?”

She nods in confirmation, walking over to the front window and sliding back the curtain with one hand. Behind her she can hear Kurt rise and follow her.

“You alright?” he asks, coming up to her and wrapping his arms around her from behind.

She looks back over her shoulder and smiles up at him before turning back to the view of the shadowy front yard. In the distance, some small, nocturnal creature darts across the grass. “I’m fine. But Eli doesn’t think he’ll be able to stop that article. We may be in for a rough couple of days. And,” she adds reluctantly, “we’ll be in Missouri when it comes out. You might want to warn Debbie.”

She feels rather than sees him nod behind her, his chin grazing the back of her head. “You sure you’re okay?” he asks again.

She turns in his arms, her own gliding up his chest to clasp behind his neck, her thumbs stroking along his jaw. “I’m _fine_ ,” she reassures him. “It won’t be fun, but we knew it was coming, didn’t we?”

He shrugs, then leans down to brush her lips with his. “We did. And I’ll tell Deb when we’re down there so I can watch her reaction. And she can watch mine,” he adds with a laugh that’s not entirely humorous.


	37. Chapter 37

They set out in her car so they can take the drive in shifts, a long way to go twice in as many days. But an hour into her turn as driver, with two as passenger already behind them, she finds the time has simply flown. She steals a sideways glance at her companion and smiles. Wherever they are, whatever they do, she enjoys herself just being with him. And she doesn't much care how sentimental that sounds.

"We're about to pass right through Springfield," he says in an offhand manner, as if the city were nothing more than a mark of their progress toward their current destination.

"So?" she challenges him, her smile twisting into a wry sort of grimace, braced for another round of a conversation she isn't sure how to have yet.

"Just saying, convenient if you want to pull off, check out some neighborhoods."

"Kurt, I'm not ready to buy property in Springfield," she scoffs.

"And I'm not suggesting we sign a mortgage today," he counters. "But how else do you start looking for a place? By getting feel for the neighborhoods."

She shakes her head; he's impossible. "Isn't it a little soon? We don't even know if I'm going to win this election. I hardly want a home in Springfield just to vacation."

"Of course you're going to win, Diane. You're running as a Democrat in Cook County."

"Oh, thanks for that," she tosses off in mock indignation.

"Hey, it happens that you are also incredibly qualified, respected, intelligent, and you  _ deserve _ to win. I'm just saying, even if that wasn’t true, you still  _ would _ win. Either way, you're a shoo-in."

She accepts his praise and can't argue with his conclusion. And she knows, of course, that few voters bother to follow judicial races, even for the Supreme Court. She should win with the die-hards who follow state politics closely, but for the majority she knows the choice is just as likely to be made based on party, which name appears first on the ballot, how they feel about women in general, or whether or not they care for their own great-aunt Diane. And the less they know the better; it's the only reason she has any lingering concerns about Karen Fallbrook's article. Eli had drilled it into her well enough the other day, even after he agreed Karen couldn't have any real dirt on her: if the average voter comes to know who she is, it won't be for anything good she's done.

"So..." he persists. "There's really no point in waiting to think about it. Unless, of course, you need a delaying tactic."

"A delaying tactic?" She looks over at him, incredulous. She knows he is needling her, but he also knows she can't help but rise to the bait.

"If you don't want to look for a place together..." He is smirking back at her, still teasing, but the words alone are enough to give her pause. It isn't funny at all if even the most remote part of his mind might mistake her uncertainty about where to live for an uncertainty about wanting to live with  _ him _ .

"You're ridiculous," she says, and so is the thought, if indeed he had it. "Of course I want to look for a place together. I just don't know about  _ Springfield_..." She trails off, making a face. She’s a city girl at heart, and it’s a far cry from Chicago.

"So take the next exit, and we'll find out."

She shakes her head, making no move to merge into the exit lane. "Maybe we can find someplace halfway in between. You'll still need to be close to the city."

"And have you driving in this thing on unplowed country roads all winter? No way."

She is half touched by his concern and half annoyed by the implication that she couldn't handle it, but laughs it off, splitting the difference. He's right, anyway; it doesn't make sense. The truth is, this conversation has been hard not because she doesn't know the answer, but because she does. "Look, a few days out of the week, I'll need to be down here and you'll need to be at school... Maybe we just need to accept that no matter what we do, we'll have to spend some nights apart. It's still going to be a lot better than before."

"Yeah," he acknowledges, then lapses into silence for a couple minutes, not raising another objection as she speeds past the last Springfield exit. She can well imagine what he's thinking, but is at a loss for what exactly to say. 'Better than before' is not his goal.

"I could plan my schedule so I'm only on campus three days a week," he says after a while, brightening with what seems like a workable solution. "A couple Tuesday/Thursday classes, and a three-hour lab on Wednesdays. We'd only have to spend two nights apart."

"And that's only when court's in session," she reminds him. "Otherwise, I'll stay in the city with you."

"All right," he concedes, letting out a long breath. "I can live with that."

"It won't be easy for me, either," she says softly, reaching out briefly to run her hand up and down his leg, giving him a reassuring squeeze before returning it to the wheel. "I always  _ want _ to be with you, Kurt. But we're hardly falling back into our old ways if we're apart for a couple nights here and there, if that's what you're afraid of."

He lets out a laugh that is less one of amusement than of letting something difficult go. "Yeah, you're right; it's stupid. I'm not really afraid of that, I promise."

"It's not stupid," she assures him. "But it's also not going to happen."

"I know," he says, and although he doesn't offer to elaborate, she is certain that deep down he does.

"And so do I," she sighs. "I guess I've been resisting Springfield for the same reason, but it's the only thing that makes sense."

He smiles over at her boyishly. "So on the way back...?"

She is powerless to suppress her own smile in return, grudging at first, then spreading wholeheartedly across her face. "On the way back, yes, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to just drive around a bit."

The conversation drifts to lighter topics, and after a while to nothing at all, both quietly enjoying the company and the view. Before them there is an endless stretch of forest-lined highway ablaze with color at the peak of autumn. Apart from trips out to the farm, too few for her liking and too often at dark, she doesn't often have the chance to immerse herself in such beautiful scenery. It was Kurt who made her care about things like this, she thinks -- nature, shooting, the quiet life. It had happened so naturally over the years, falling in love with the things that surrounded her as she fell in love with him. She could get used to this drive and enjoy it through every season, with him at her side.

_ Better than before._ She can't get the phrase out of her mind now that she’s said it. She isn't sure it's quite the right phrase, or if it is, whether that's enough. Nothing had felt missing over these last few months together. She really thinks they have found it, that elusive  _ it _ they never could master over years of running away from, toward, and around each other: how to be best friends and lovers and partners all at once, how to be truly open with each other and to explore the closeness that vulnerability aroused, and above all how to simply  _ make room _ for one another in their long-solitary lives. They have tamed their own worst impulses now, named and then kissed away all of their faults and fears. It isn't perfect, but god, it's been good.

And, yes, it has been better than before. She was proud of what they had built from the ashes of their own making, she won't turn a blind eye to that. It was different where it needed to be, the same where they wanted it to be, shored up on all sides with love and commitment and sheer stubborn determination. Better. Stronger.

But still there is something that makes him go quiet now and then, something that preoccupies him when he thinks she is not watching. Something that still makes him retreat into his own head that he has not yet voiced or worked through. Something she senses has come over him now, turning away to look out the passenger window, lost in his own thoughts.

She wouldn't dream of pushing him, and it does not worry her exactly. Whatever it is never marks the time they spend together; it doesn't seem to be a resentment about the past or a hesitancy about the present. She has come to accept it as she has accepted her own darker thoughts, the unbidden reminders of how she has been hurt and what she has lost, less frequent with the passing of time. Perhaps this is simply his own way of dealing with the ghosts that visit him now and then; she certainly cannot begrudge him that.

_ Better than before_. What rankles her about the phrase, she realizes suddenly, is not that it invites comparison between the good and the perfect, but rather between  _ then  _ and  _ now_. They have laid the past to rest, they have made the present something beautiful and strong, but they have not, perhaps, stopped looking at what they have created through the lens of what they were. Was that where his thoughts went when he wandered away from her? To something they had before that they have not entirely recovered.

Or perhaps they had been so focused on the past and the present that they had neglected the future -- or had been, for her part at least, willing to take it as it came. She was not afraid of the future and there was no need to think very far ahead. He would be in it; that was all she needed to know. It seems almost absurd now to realize that she had not given consideration to Springfield or a permanent living arrangement. But until now, every day had led so naturally into the next that it required no thought. She awoke in the morning to find him there. They planned their days around one another's, comparing schedules, working out a strategy that went no further than which bed they would end up in that night. Endless days stretched on ahead of them, ill-defined but definitely happy, content with things exactly as they are and exactly as they would be.

But his mind has turned to the future, and it occurs to her now there are reasons -- some in their differing personalities, some in their troubled past -- why he might prefer definition. That he might never breathe easily until they are certain not only that they will be together, but  _ how  _ they will be together. And, after all, it occurs to her with a wave of emotion that knocks her sideways for a moment: he never wanted to not be married to her.

He is asking those questions and he is making those plans and she is just now starting to catch up to him. She isn't used to that. She has always been the one to call the shots; only now does she consider how it might feel if their roles were reversed. It is terrifying for about half a second. And then it settles into a kind of peace and contentment she has never felt before, secure in the knowledge that it will be right. If that is something he needs, she will be so completely happy to give that to him. On his own terms, in his own time.

_ Better than before._ They are moving toward something that will banish that phrase from their vocabularies once and for all, and she trusts him to point the way.

"What are you thinking about?"

His voice is gentle but it jars her back to the present, back here, with him. They will have to talk about all of this when they have both collected their thoughts. It is more than she can put into words now, but she finds she can sum it up in only three.

"I love you."

"Funny. I was thinking the same thing."

And she finds it very easy to imagine, wherever else his own thoughts may have wandered, that he has been doing just that. 


	38. Chapter 38

When they arrive at Debbie’s house three hours later, Kurt is driving again and Diane has been watching the scenery pass in contented silence, daydreaming about their future. With every mile that fell away, she had grown more content with the idea of letting him take the lead in formalizing their future plans, but that doesn’t mean she can’t enjoy imagining them a year, or two, or ten down the road – where they’ll  be, what they’ll be doing. She knows the only part that matters is that they’re together, but now that’s she finally letting her imagination loose, the possibilities are endless. She feels like she’s twenty-two and just starting out, the whole wonderful world before her. But then, that’s how he’s always made her feel.

For now though, she sets aside her daydreams and turns to Kurt as he pulls halfway up the gravel driveway and stops the car. “Do you think maybe I should give you a few moments of privacy before she has to play nice with me?” she offers.

Kurt is looking at her, amused, but shaking his head, so she lets the rest of the sentence fade away. Debbie knows she’s coming; there’s no reason to delay the inevitable. “Come on,” he says, reaching over and squeezing her hand. “She’ll behave.”

“Will she?” Diane asks facetiously, but she unfastens her seatbelt and opens the car door after he slides the gearshift into park and turns off the engine.

Kurt retrieves their overnight bags from the trunk and they walk together up to the front door. Since his hands are full, Diane reaches for the doorbell, but he stops her with a pointed cough and a raised eyebrow.

“What?” she asks, hand still extended outward in midair.

“Family just walks in,” he says. “Go ahead, open it.”

She looks curiously at him for a moment, then follows his instructions, pushing open the heavy wooden door, then holding open the screen while he enters with the bags“Deb,” he calls out as she closes the doors behind them, “we’re here.”

Silence is the only response. Brow furrowing, Kurt sets their bags down and crosses the living room to the kitchen, disappearing from her sight, then returning almost immediately. “Deb?” he calls up the stairs, then shakes his head quickly and jogs up.

Through all this, Diane has remained in the entryway, but now she follows his previous path into the kitchen. As she expected, it’s empty, but there are signs of recent occupation – an inch of lukewarm coffee in the pot, dirty dishes in the sink. The sliding glass of the patio door is already open and Diane slides the screen across and steps over the threshold. No Debbie there either, but there is a half empty mug of coffee on the low table and an ashtray overflowing with ashes and cigarette butts.

She walks over to the steps leading down to the uneven stone walkway and follows it to the driveway, suddenly realizing that Debbie’s car isn’t parked in her usual spot, past where they could see from the front of the house.

She turns around to go back in and tell Kurt and almost plows right into him. “Oh!” she exclaims, involuntarily jumping back, arms flying up as her heel sinks into the gravel.

He reaches out and grabs her elbows to steady her. “Whoa, careful there.”

She grasps his forearms long enough to steady herself, then gestures behind her. “No car.”

“Yeah,” he says, unsurprised. “I found a note in the john. I guess she thought that’s the first place we’d go after the long drive. Joey’s bike is in the shop so she went to pick him up from work and they’re going to bring back something to eat.”

A visit to the facilities actually does sound like a good idea, so when they go back in the house, Diane goes straight upstairs. It seems a little strange to her to be wandering around Debbie’s house when she’s not home, but she supposes Kurt has spent enough time there that it’s almost like his home too. She smiles, remembering his stance against family knocking at the front door. They had been brought up so differently; it’s no wonder they’ve suffered through so many misunderstandings. Her mother would certainly never have stood for anyone presuming to enter her home unannounced, up to and including her only daughter. Maybe someday she and Debbie could have the kind of relationship where walking right in would feel natural. Maybe, but she won’t hold her breath.

When she emerges from the bathroom, she finds Kurt depositing their bags in the guest room. Walking up behind him, she wraps her arms around his waist. “This room certainly brings back frustrating memories,” she comments, looking over at the bed where they had spent that agonizing night together months ago.

Kurt groans at the thought, sliding his hands along her arms crossed over his stomach. “I still don’t know how I kept my hands off you that night. Possibly the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

She can’t quite contain her juvenile snicker at his choice of words and when he hears it, he turns around in her arms, his hands clasping together behind her back as hers do the same behind his. “Think that’s funny, do you?”

“Oh, no sir, not me,” she replies quickly, knowing he’s fully capable of bringing her to that same level of frustration anytime he wants. Even the memory of that night lying beside him, about to climb out of her own skin with want is enough that threads of desire are starting to wind their way up her spine. Unbidden, her eyes return to the bed, neatly made with the same plaid comforter that they slept under before. She shivers at the memory of frantic kisses and him hard against her before they reluctantly retreated.

Now, Kurt steps closer, his hands unclasping and sliding lower. “Think _this_ is funny?” he growls in her ear, his hands on her ass pulling her firmly against him, his growing arousal evident.

She swallows. “How far away does Joey work?” she asks, trying to get some sense of how long they may have.

He kisses her neck, beard scratching against the vee of skin left bare by her blouse. One hand leaves her backside to slide its way around front and up over her abdomen to her chest, fingers toying briefly with her first button, before sliding it undone.

“Kurt,” she prompts urgently when he doesn’t answer her question. “How long?”

“Time is it?” he asks, and she can feel his tongue forming the words against her skin.

She lifts her arm to check her watch. “Quarter past seven,” she informs him breathlessly, her hand falling back to his hip, fingers curling into the waist of his jeans.

“His shift was probably done at seven,” he says, moving up to her ear, lightly biting her lobe before he continues. “Shop is a twenty minute drive from here. So I guess the questions is, did Deb stop for food before, or after? How lucky do you feel?” His hand drops down to the next button.

Diane groans, her head falling back. “Later,” she pleads, “after they’re asleep.”

“You think Deb won’t purposely stay awake all night just to piss you off?” Kurt laughs as he kisses her jaw. The third button on blouse pops open, and his hand trailing lightly over her breast, then dipping inside the opening he’s created. Swearing softly as his hand brushes against her hard nipple under the satin of her bra, she turns her head and pushes her lips against his.

His other hand, still on her ass pulls her against him again and this time she rubs herself against him as she kisses him hard, tongue darting into his mouth and drawing his out. Inside her blouse, two fingers are already diving into the cup of her bra, finding her nipple and rolling it between them. If they’re going to do this, it will have to be fast. She reaches for his belt.

Downstairs, a door slams.

They jump apart like guilty teenagers, as the sound of footsteps and indistinct chatter reach them from downstairs.

“Fuck,” Kurt says, shoving his hands through his hair.

She laughs, shaking her head as she rebuttons her blouse. It’s becoming clear to her that Debbie has put a curse on the house. “Sorry hon,” she says. “But I don’t think we have time for that right now.”

"You know, I don't think it's good for my heart to stop all at once like that," he laughs as he tucks his shirt neatly into his jeans again.

"Then _you_ shouldn't start what you can't finish," she retorts, her eyebrows raised teasingly as she breezes past him and reaches for the doorknob.

"Hey," he calls out, lightly grabbing her elbow and turning her to face him again, backing her against the door. He kisses her sweetly, then pulls back just enough to take in her reaction, which evidently satisfies him. "Don't say that."

"Why not?"

"Because you're the one thing in my life I could never finish," he says, a lopsided grin spreading across his face. "But I'm damn glad I started."

"Oh..." She pulls him back toward her for a long, lingering kiss that will have to last them for hours. At least she can be sure she gave it her best shot.

_"Hey, you up there?"_ They hear Debbie's voice call out from the bottom of the stairs. _"Dinner's gonna get cold!"_

With a look of exaggerated regret, Diane pushes him away. "We came here to visit with your family. Come on."

"Yeah." He steps back just enough to let her move free of the door, looking equally regretful. Softly, he adds, "Don't let her get to you."

"Oh, I won't," she smiles back at him, then steps out of the room before he has time to wonder.

They find them in the kitchen, Debbie puttering away at the counter grabbing plates and napkins, Joey at the table absorbed in his cell phone, perhaps having learned through experience it's easier just to stand aside while she does things her own way.

"Hey, Deb," Kurt greets her, pulling her into a brief sideways embrace before she elbows him aside, but even Diane can see the corners of her mouth have quirked upward in a poorly suppressed smile.

"Good to see ya -- _finally_ ," Debbie replies, her tone pointed but affectionate.

"You, too. You look good," he adds, which elicits an undisguised scowl.

Kurt tousles Joey's hair in place of a verbal greeting as he passes, sitting across from him at the small dinette table. Joey looks up from his phone just briefly, but laughs in response. Diane is sure the gesture began when Joey was a fraction of his current size, and for a moment she can picture a much younger Kurt, Cool Uncle Kurt, a kind father figure to a kid who needed a steady presence in his life.

"Hello, Debbie," Diane ventures as she takes the empty seat between the two men. "How have you been?"

Debbie lets out a low, hard laugh but says nothing else, distributing the plates between the four settings but looking no one in the eye.

"I'm sorry, was that an answer to my question?" Diane presses her with exaggerated politeness.

She exchanges a glance with Kurt, who regards her with a silent mix of amusement and appreciation. He leans back in his chair, arms crossed, interested to see what will happen next. He knows Diane doesn't need him to play referee this time, and he seems to relish this new role as avid spectator.

"You know how I been," Debbie grumbles.

"I don't think I follow."

Debbie has turned her back again to grab the napkins and the utensils, but Diane can almost _feel_ her rolling her eyes at her. "Like he doesn't tell you everything about me."

"Ma, come on!" Joey breaks in, looking up momentarily from his phone again.

"It's not a problem," Debbie shrugs, passing the last of the place settings around. "I guess you might as well know my business. Kurt keeps telling me you're not going anywhere."

Diane takes the offered bundle of silverware, looking back at her evenly.

Debbie finally takes a seat with a sigh, as if the whole endeavor of spooning out take-out portions was exhausting. "And I guess you haven't. So."

Diane smiles, knowing this is about as warm a welcome as she ever expects to get from her. At the very least, it is good to see her with her old energy and attitude back, not picking a fight out of fear and anger, but for the fun of it. She does seem more like herself again, months sober, even if it's still a struggle. And despite the long-simmering tension between them, the truth is, she really does _like_ Debbie.

"Phone down at dinner," she barks at Joey, jabbing his arm, directing her fire toward him.

He continues typing, leaning sideways out of her reach, before acquiescing and laying it face down on the table. "All right, all right."

"That's his girlfriend," Debbie cocks her head toward the device. "Can't bear to be apart for five minutes, those two."

Kurt whistles, then exclaims, "Girlfriend? Joe! You've been holding out on me."

"Aw," he says only, swiping the air dismissively before slouching over his plate.

"Well, tell us about her!" Kurt insists, not about to back down that easily.

Again Diane feels she is witnessing a long family tradition of merciless teasing, and she almost feels sorry for the young man. But he really should know what he's up against by now.

Her son's embarrassment is one thing that brings Debbie evident pleasure, exchanging a knowing grin with Kurt, but she waves him off a moment later. "Nah, I try not to give him a hard time, 'cause Shelly's good for him."

"Shelly?" Kurt persists, not ready to give up so easily. He leans closer to Joey. "Is it Michelle, or just Shelly?"

"Just Shelly," he mutters. "We work together, it's no big deal."

"But they don't _just_ work together," Debbie explains, ignoring Joey's obvious preference to let the subject drop. "She's a freshman at Mizzou. We're in cahoots, me and Shelly."

"Cahoots?" Kurt asks, laughing.

"We'll have him in school by January."

"Yeah, we'll see," Joey says. "I'm not in yet."

"But you applied?" Kurt asks, all trace of mocking suddenly vanished, now beaming with pride.

"Yeah. And not _just_ because of Shelly," he adds quickly, casting a moody glance at his mother.

"Nothing to be ashamed of there," Kurt says, reaching over for Diane's hand and looking at her as he continues. "I've found being in love to be a very good reason to do things."

"All right, all right," Debbie interjects, feigning disgust, but she laughs, and, whatever tension there had been in the air lifted, they all laugh.

 


	39. Chapter 39

After dinner, it is Debbie who suggests a cribbage rematch, and Diane fights back her instinctive shock when Debbie refers to it as "our tradition," even if it is said with a note of sarcasm. And although she announces she is going to destroy Diane, and has traded in the old "Lady Di" for "The Supreme," Diane senses some change toward her -- if not exactly warmth, then, possibly, acceptance. 

“You should know, Debbie, before we start, that I’ve been practicing,” she ventures carefully. “I’ve even bested Kurt a couple of times.” It’s a blatant exaggeration of the one night they played by candlelight at the farm when the power went out in an electrical storm, but she hopes Kurt will go along with her in the spirit of conciliation. To make sure, she nudges his foot with hers under the table and he responds by sliding a hand over her knee and squeezing.

“Once, dear,” he corrects drolly, leaning over and brushing her quickly on the cheek. “You beat me once.” He winks at her, not challenging the impression that she had had other opportunities to beat him, but apparently not quite willing to sacrifice his reputation as a player to uphold her story fully.

Debbie doesn’t appear to think much of his reputation in any case. “Like that’s an accomplishment,” she snorts. “Even Joey can beat Kurt.”

“Hey!” Joey and Kurt object in unison and Diane and Debbie’s eyes meet in a moment of shared amusement at the men’s expense.

She doesn’t actually beat Debbie, but she holds her own, remembers the rules, manages to count her all her own points, and in the end only loses by a handful of pegs. “Better luck next time,” Debbie singsongs, and the implication that  _ next time _ will be welcomed is win enough for Diane.

Graciously giving up her seat to Joey for the next game, she goes over to the fridge in search of a soft drink. As she stands with the door open, mulling over her choices, Kurt appears beside her, reaching past her to grab a Pepsi. “How are you doing?” he asks quietly.

It takes a second before she understands what he’s asking; she's been so caught up in the game that she almost forgot about the article. But then she shakes her head quickly and chooses a bottle of water, letting the fridge door close behind her. She doesn't care to start thinking about it now either.

They had discussed on the way down whether they should forewarn Debbie about it, or wait until they knew exactly what it said, and ultimately had decided to wait. There didn’t seem to be any point in upsetting her, and probably ruining everyone’s evening, only to have to go through the whole thing again the next day after reading it. “It won’t make it any better,” Kurt had concluded. “It will just drag it out and upset everyone twice.” In truth, if they thought they could get away with it, they wouldn’t tell her at all, but there was just too great a chance she would hear about it from someone else.

“I’m fine,” she says now, touching his arm briefly and bestowing on him a look she hopes will communicate that, while she appreciates his concern, she doesn’t want to talk about it.

He seems to understand, nodding quickly and sauntering back over to the table.

“What are you hoping to take at college, Joey?” she asks, following and taking Joey’s former seat next to his mother.

“Business,” the young man replies, eyes not moving from his cards.

“He wants to open his own bike shop,” Debbie announces as she lays a three of spades on the pile between the two players. “Eighteen,” she advises her son.

“Is that a fact?” Kurt says. “You know, I’ve been thinking about getting another bike myself.”

Diane’s jaw drops. “You have?” she blurts before she can stop herself. “But they’re so dangerous!” She knew Kurt had owned motorcycles in the past, but none since before they were married. She had assumed whatever interest he had in them had long since passed.

Joey laughs and shakes his head as he lays a card down on top of his mother’s. “Twenty-eight,” he announces, with no other comment.

“We’ll talk about it later, okay?” Kurt says, taking a drink of his soda while looking like he wishes he hadn’t said anything. She stares back at him, dumbfounded. She doesn’t know much about motorcycles, but the thought of him hurtling down the highway at seventy miles an hour with nothing but a helmet and a leather jacket between him and the asphalt, not to mention the other vehicles, is horrifying.

She looks away, only to find Debbie watching her, her expression every bit as unreadable as she used to find her brother’s. Diane supposes this will become another reason for the other woman to deride her. If she manages to talk some sense into Kurt, Debbie will take that as her controlling him or some such foolishness. And if she doesn’t, well, she’ll never hear the end of that either.

She’s stunned when instead the other woman jerks her head across the table at her son. “Kurt taught this one to ride. You can be damned sure I wouldn’t have allowed that if I didn’t know he was the most careful guy to ever straddle a bike. I still worry, but let him tell you all his rules and you’ll feel better.” Without looking at Diane, she lays another card on the pile, then reaches for her peg. “Thirty-one for two.”

Diane blinks, then picks up her water. There is nothing to be gained by worrying about this now. Kurt is still looking at her, concerned by her reaction. She nods slightly. She’s fine. They’ll talk later.

“I think that’s great, Joe,” he says, looking back at his nephew. “Tell you what, if you get your degree and show us a solid business plan, I’m sure your aunt and I wouldn’t be opposed to fronting you some start-up money, eh Diane?”

“Of course,” she says, smiling at the young man’s hopeful expression.

 

***

 

“You didn’t mind me offering Joe some money, did you?” Kurt asks later as they are getting ready for bed. “You were pretty quiet after that.”

“Of course not,” she says, running a brush through her hair a few times before tossing it back in her overnight bag. Kurt has his own money; he certainly doesn’t need her permission to invest some in his nephew.

“So if it wasn’t that, it was the bike thing. Don’t worry, hon, okay? If you don’t want me to get one, I won’t get one. It’s not a big deal.” He pulls his t-shirt over his head and tosses it onto the wooden chair in the corner.

She has been thinking about it, of course, but what right does she have to ask that of him? She shakes her head. “No, you just surprised me, that’s all. The idea will take some getting used to, but I know Debbie is right. No one in the world is more conscientious about gun safety than you are, and I’m sure it’s just the same with motorcycles.” She switches on the lamp beside the bed, then crosses the room to turn off the overhead light with the switch by the door.

Kurt snags her arm on the way by and pulls her roughly to him, sliding an arm around her waist. “Pardon me,” he says. “I don’t think I heard you correctly. Did you just say my sister was right?” He bends his head to nuzzle her neck.

Diane laughs and pushes on his bare chest to extricate herself. Walking back to the bed, she pulls down the bedding on her side. “She was good tonight, don’t you think? I think she’s getting used to me.”

“She’s in a lot better place now than the last couple times you saw her,” Kurt says, unbuttoning his jeans, then sitting on his side of the bed to peel them off. “After you came up to get ready for bed, Joe took off to call his girlfriend so we had a few minutes to talk. She apologized for getting herself into a panic the other day when she called, and said mostly she’s doing pretty good. She goes to meetings a couple of times a week. She’s been doing some work on the Harper’s farm grading potatoes and helping out where she can. I’m a little worried what she’ll do all winter, but she doesn’t seem to be.” He stands again and pulls back the bedding to climb in. “Says she’ll find something to keep herself busy. Made a joke about going to school with Joe. I told her I didn’t think that was a bad idea.”

“Do you think she ever would? Go back to school, I mean?”

He makes a noncommittal noise. “Not university probably. But she used to like to write. Maybe something like that at community college. But you know what? I don’t want to talk about my sister anymore. Come over here, pretty lady.”

She does as he asks, lying down, then scooting over until they’re nose to nose. “We can’t do anything, you know,” she whispers. “Debbie is still awake.”

“I know,” he says. “I just want a goodnight kiss.” He closes the remaining distance and presses his lips to hers.

What she intends to be a brief peck quickly grows into much more, and she isn't certain she can pin the blame on him, either. But he certainly makes no attempt to resist her as she prolongs the kiss, slowly sliding her hand from his waist up the broad length of his back. What her mind tells her and what her body demands have so often been in conflict with this man, right from the very beginning, and continued to be through years of late arrivals to meetings, of suddenly forgetting a strong counterargument, of rendezvous in inappropriate locations... Dimly, in the part of her mind that is working at all, she thinks:  _ What's one more? _

A knock at the door shocks them apart again, and the sound of Debbie's voice calling with unprecedented sweetness,  _ "Anything you two need?" _

Kurt flashes Diane an expression that is half smirk, half pained grimace, and calls back, "No, we're all set, Deb. Good night."

Diane pushes off him and rolls onto her back with a sigh. "She's fucking with me now, isn't she?"

"I thought it was nice," he laughs, propping himself up on one elbow and looking down at her with amusement, but perhaps rightly keeping his hands to himself.

"Yes, suddenly she's my best friend," Diane grumbles, but laughs it off, too. Better, really, that Debbie interrupted before she had anything much  _ to _ interrupt.

"Just one more check in the pro-Springfield column. If we have a place just three hours north of here, no real reason to spend the night."

"That's the argument you should have led with if you really wanted to persuade me."

He shakes his head, smiling. "Been saving it up. For maximum impact."

"Well, it worked," she sighs, but happily, turning her thoughts to less frustrating topics. "We  _ should _ go drive around on our way back tomorrow. Something to look forward to after the article."

"Not to press my luck, but why don't we find a nice little inn and stay the night there? Walk around some in the morning, put off returning to reality for another night."

"Well..." she considers, tempted.

"And we can make up for tonight," he says, his voice dropping low, leaning down to kiss her neck lingeringly.

She laughs, pushing him away again. "I have a feeling we're going to do that either way."

"Still," he says only, as if it proves his point, and as far as she's concerned it nearly does.

"Maybe. Let's see what happens, what Eli recommends. If he needs me to get back and do damage control then I'll have to. But perhaps it'll be so bad he'll tell me it's better to make myself scarce."

"Or maybe it'll be nothing at all and no one will miss us for another day."

"Yeah. Maybe." She has always taken more easily to planning for the worst than expecting the best, but she won't have to wonder much longer, at least. The best thing she can probably do now is get a good night's sleep to face whatever may come. "Hey, roll over."

"Yes ma'am," he says teasingly, doing as he's told and welcoming her with open arms.

"Stop," she replies in mock rebuke, sitting up just long enough to turn off the bedside light, then she rolls over to snuggle against his side and pulls the covers around them. She gives him a little peck, stopping herself there this time, and lets her head fall to his chest. "We should just sleep."

"Sure..." he trails off as if mystified. "Just...  _ sleep._"

"I mean it," she says, pinching him and realizing a moment later that's no way to underscore her seriousness.

"Hey, you keep your hands to yourself, and I'll keep my hands to myself," he adopts a tone of innocence, but curls his arm around her and pulls her still closer, his fingertips grazing her ass.

She closes her eyes and lets that one go, trying to quiet her mind from alternating thoughts about the article and what she would rather be doing to distract herself from it. The warmth of his body and the feeling of his breath against her skin aren't likely to lull her to sleep any time soon, she knows; in fact they are having quite the opposite effect. Just the thought that they  _ can't _ is enough to drive her mad, even though he had satisfied her yesterday, and she can't imagine what unforeseen calamity could stop him from satisfying her again tomorrow.

This was nothing like the early days of their reconciliation, lying in this very bed wanting each other, with no end to the torment in sight. And a long way off from two years without him, trying to convince herself no part of her still wanted his touch, when at night her thoughts betrayed her again and again. Even now, it wasn't as if a night never passed without making love, or even two or three if they were very tired and their schedules out of sync, but the thought that they  _ can't_...

"I hear snoring," he mumbles after long minutes pass, neither any closer to sleep.

"What?"

"I'm just saying."

"You're impossible," she laughs, turning into him and burying her laughter in his shoulder, barely resisting the sudden urge to run her tongue across the hard ridge of bone she finds there.

"Nope. I am very possible," he squeezes her ass lightly, as if she were in any danger of missing his point otherwise.

"You can really have sex while you listen to your sister and your nephew snore?" she asks with exaggerated incredulity.

"I can't sleep while I listen to them snore, either, so..."

"It's not a very good idea," she says, but she can't help it, she is feeling more awake all the time at the thought of it. It's so  _ good _ when it's not a very good idea.

"No," he acknowledges without argument.

She lets her head fall against his chest again, willing her breath and pulse back to a normal rate, ignoring her growing arousal. But try as she might to clear her mind, she can't block out the image of him moving inside her with strokes shallow and slow to avoid the incriminating squeak of the mattress while she muffles her screams into his mouth.

"Oh, fuck it," she swears under her breath finally, rolling over on top of him in one swift, desperate movement.

The mattress creaks slightly under even this much pressure and she winces but does not stop. They will have to figure out just the right position and rhythm for this, slow and deliberate when all they want to do is tear into one another, and the thought of a new...  _ challenge _ when she was sure she has already had him every way she possibly can drives her wild. She pulls back slightly to check his response, to see that he has understood and agreed to the rules of the game this time, and somehow in his devious grin she intuits that he has. Satisfied, she dips her head back down, swallowing his little gasp of surprise as she plunges her tongue into his mouth, pressing back hard against his cock in one long and slow movement.

She can feel him hot, growing, as he returns the pressure, reaching down with both hands to hold her hips like a vise. She bucks at the contact by instinct, so soon violating the rules of the game, and he grasps her still harder, easing her back down the length of him so slowly she shudders.

The tinkling sound of some music loud and faraway disturbs her suddenly but she ignores it until all at once in horror she realizes what it is -- her cell phone, across the room, ringing at full blast.

"Damn it," she whispers, rolling off him in agony. "I forgot to put it on silent..."

She stumbles across the room, already too on edge to walk quite properly, fumbling around for the phone in her suitcase. By the time she finds it, it has already gone on long enough to send the call to voicemail, and to have awoken his sister, muttering a barely audible curse down the hall.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, flashing him a truly regretful look that only grows as her gaze travels from his face down to his waist, his boxers tenting in almost ludicrous futility.

She looks down at her phone and sees that it was Eli, but he hasn't left a voicemail. Relieved for half a second, she decides it must not have been very important, thinks hopefully they can resume their little game after the coast is clear again, after some silent and maddeningly prolonged foreplay...

A moment later, a text message pops up instead.

_ IT'S UP ON THE TRIB WEBSITE. READ IT AND CALL ME ASAP. _


	40. Chapter 40

Dread washes over her and all thoughts of passion evaporate in the instant it takes her to process the message. Another text arrives immediately following the first one, just a link enclosed in a grey bubble with no added commentary. Steeling herself, she taps the link and drifts back to the bed without looking up from her phone.

"What's wrong?" Kurt asks, the teasing intimacy from before now gone from his voice.

"The article is online," she tells him tersely as she sits down on the edge of the bed. The page is slow to load, the little indicator wheel spinning relentlessly as the content slowly appears. Behind her, the bed shifts as Kurt switches on a lamp, then gets up and walks around to sit beside her, close enough that she can feel the heat of him, but not close enough to touch, leaving her with space to concentrate.

The site finally finishes loading, and she reads through the article carefully; she only wants to have to do it once. When she's done she silently hands the phone to Kurt, then collapses back against the bed, the words of the article trudging through her mind like a line of ants emerging from a pile of sand.

She can tell when he reaches the worst of it by the way his back stiffens and the muffled curse that emerges. He turns back to look at her, but she just shakes her head. "Finish it," she advises, then closes her eyes.

He falls back beside her when he's done, dropping the phone to the mattress between them. She opens her eyes then and turns her head to face him, expecting to find a return of that crushing guilt in his face, the guilt they have worked so hard to get past, but instead she is confronted with clench-jawed fury.

"I can't fucking believe she did that,” he says. “It’s bullshit. She’ll regret ever opening her mouth, you can be sure of that." She knows he’s not talking about the journalist.

"No, Kurt." She sits up and twists around to look at him. "You can't. You can't contact her. That would only make things worse." She reaches out and cups her hand around his jaw, thumb trailing along the edges of his beard. "I have to call Eli. I'm going to go downstairs, okay? Don’t do anything rash while I’m gone."

He releases a huge breath and sits up, hand sliding across her back and curling around her hipbone. "I won’t. You want me to come with you?"

"No, it's fine. Stay here; I'll be back in a minute." She leans over and kisses him softly. "Don't worry, okay? It’ll be fine. We knew this could happen." She only wishes she felt as confident as she sounds. They had anticipated Holly being interviewed, but they hadn't fully considered what she might say.

She slips from the bedroom and carefully closes the door behind her, trying not to disturb Debbie even further, then goes downstairs and into the kitchen to sit at the table, still littered with the remains of their card game. It’s the furthest away from the bedrooms she can get without actually leaving the house.

"You read it," Eli says in lieu of a greeting when he answers her call. Despite the hour, he sounds wide awake, and as coldly furious as she's ever heard him.

"I read it," she confirms. "How much trouble am I in?"

"You tell me.” She can picture him pacing, hands waving in the air, even with no one present to witness his show of agitation. “Are you vulnerable here, Diane? Will the bar take any notice? You'll notice I'm very carefully not asking you if it's true you made a habit of manipulating your expert witness husband to lie on the stand for you.”

She sighs, remembering the conversation she and Kurt had two and a half years ago, in which she regrettably played on his love for her in order to convince him to tailor his testimony to her needs. It had only happened that one time, not the many the article implies, but it remains one of her biggest regrets from their marriage.

But Holly, testifying for the other side, had already suggested it was happening, right in open court at the time, and nothing had come of it, professionally speaking. The judge hadn’t even blinked.

Personally speaking, of course, it had come to seem like the beginning of the end.

"It's not true,” she says shortly. “And I don't think the bar would investigate this kind of rumour without an official complaint, and who is going to complain after all this time? Peter Florrick? The SA's office? I can't see it," she tells Eli now.

"Good. Then don't worry about it, Diane. Politically, nothing will come of it either; it's mean-spirited, spiteful garbage. Anyone with a brain can see that. Now, is there anything else in there that concerns you? There’s nothing taken from your private notes?"

There isn't. The rest of the article is a rehash of things that are already in the public domain - her background, her career up until now, including some of her more colourful clients, and some snarky insinuations about her personal life, all of it written, as Ms. Fallbrook had earlier implied, with a view to whether she’s a suitable role model to a younger generation of women. It’s an altogether unpleasant article, but the only parts that are potentially problematic are Holly's insinuations about Kurt.

"No,” she answers after a moment’s thought. “I suppose she hoped the portfolio would be a distraction from her real showstopper -- and it worked."

“What about the...ah...personal aspects? If you’re in the middle of a meltdown, I need to know about it.” To his credit, Eli sounds embarrassed for asking, and understanding why he has to, she doesn’t take offense.

“I’m not. We’re not. She’s delusional and lashing out. Nothing she says has any basis in fact. _None_ of it, Eli.”

“Okay, okay. Understood.”

He sounds calmer now, and she has to admit, now that the shock has passed, she’s feeling a bit better herself. "Okay, well, I'll send out a few feelers tomorrow,” he tells her, “but try not to worry. I really don't think anyone will take this seriously enough to investigate. You might want to be unreachable tomorrow though until you hear from me."

She agrees, thinking of Kurt’s earlier suggestion of hiding away at an inn in Springfield tomorrow night. She only hopes he won’t be too upset by all this to enjoy the upside.

He’s still wide awake, sitting up in bed with his own phone in his hand when Diane lets herself back into the bedroom.

He looks up at her entrance, his face like granite. "I want you to know,” he says, before she even has a chance to speak, “that nothing she said in that interview is true. Please believe that.”

Her heart melts at the worry in his voice. The sordid personal accusations the article had put forth, courtesy of Holly, had been the least of Diane’s concerns, having dismissed them immediately as untrue. But she feels sick now to think of how it will affect him -- the veiled remarks about his relationships with his students above all.

"Of course I believe it. There is no doubt in my mind; please believe _that_. She wants a reaction, Kurt, that’s all. From you and I, first and foremost, but failing that, from the public. We are not going to give it to her." She looks pointedly at his phone as she walks around to her side of the bed. “You didn’t…”

"No.” He turns the phone around so she can see he’s just been rereading the article. “But damn it, Diane. This is my reputation too. I don't care what people think of me personally, but professionally? That means something to me. I have students who are going to read this shit."

"I know. I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry my ambition is hurting you, yet again." She climbs back into bed, but remains seated, pulling the covers up to her waist and the sliding her foot over to touch his. She’s gratified, somewhat, when he doesn’t pull away. “If it’s any consolation, Eli thinks the whole thing is garbage and no one is going to think twice about it.”

Kurt grunts and tosses his phone to the bedside table, then reaches over to flick off the light. “I hope he’s right,” he says, arranging his pillow and lying down. “But that woman had better stay far away from us either way.”

Diane doesn’t ask which woman he means. The warning could apply to both of them.

***

When Diane wakes the next morning, the first thing she is aware of is the comforting weight of Kurt's arm draped across her side, the warmth and pressure of him against her back. For about thirty seconds, it could pass for any normal morning, fitting the comfortable routine they have reestablished over the last several months. But slowly the rest of it comes back to her, and there is no pushing it out of her mind again: the details of the room and where they are, the unpleasant things they had been discussing the night before. She groans quietly, clenching her eyes shut, wishing she could make real the fantasy that they are in their own bed at the farm on a completely ordinary day.

Either way, she reminds herself, he is here, the one reliable constant in her life, no matter how bad things may get. She presses back against him slightly, finding no small comfort in that.

"You awake?" comes his sleepy reply.

"Oh, I didn't realize you were," she says softly, turning onto her other side to face him. "Good morning."

"You sure about that?" he grumbles, but a hint of a smile plays across his face before he leans in to kiss her.

"This part is good, at least."

"Yeah," he agrees, tightening his grip on her waist and pulling her closer, letting his head fall against the crook of her neck. They hold one another for long moments, silently reaffirming their strength together, building up a reserve that will carry them through whatever they day may bring until they can return to one another's arms again at the end of it.

Finally he pulls away. "I think everyone else is up."

She sighs. "Time to face the music?"

"Yep."

They find Debbie at the kitchen table, reading the local paper and nursing a cup of black coffee. "Morning sleepyheads," she offers, barely glancing up.

"Why don't you read this instead?" Kurt wastes no time on little niceties either, dropping his phone over roughly the section of paper she seems to be reading.

Diane shakes her head and laughs in spite of herself, moving to the other side of the room to pour two mugs of coffee from the half-filled pot.

"Get that away from me, I don't read on a phone." She shoves it back at him as he takes the seat across from her. "All Joey does now if he isn't with his girlfriend or at work is stare at that damn screen, but I’ll be damned if I will."

"Seriously, Deb, I need you to read this," he holds out the phone again, his face somber now.

"What is it?" She takes it and eyes it dubiously.

"It's an article about Diane, and, well, me. And I agree with you on the phone thing, but I’m not about to spend three dollars so you can read this garbage in print."

Debbie eyes Diane suspiciously for a moment as she comes to join them at the table, setting one mug down by Kurt before taking the seat beside him. Clearly having some idea what she might be in for now, she looks down, and reads.

Diane sips her coffee and watches her reaction carefully, the tight line of her mouth slowly turning into a frown and then pursing in anger.

"Is this true?" she looks up after a while, incredulous.

Simultaneously, Diane asks, "Which part?" while Kurt says flatly, "No." Despite the gravity of it all Diane has to bite back a smile at that. He is right, of course: all of the most outrageous parts are at best exaggerated, at worst nothing but unfounded insinuations and outright lies.

Debbie turns back to the article, her question evidently rhetorical, at least for the moment. As she reads on, she becomes increasingly agitated, her free hand tapping the table furiously with her short nails.

When she finishes, she slides the phone back to him in disgust, but offers no immediate reaction. Diane glances sideways at Kurt, unsure whether she should take that as a good or bad sign.

"We wanted you to see it before you heard it from someone else," Kurt says. "We don't know how much of a reaction this is going to stir up, but--"

"I guess I finally understand why you left him," Debbie cuts him off, turning to look squarely at Diane.

"What?" Diane blurts out, confused and surprised by her reaction. It takes a few moments of mentally scanning through the article to recall what Debbie has been most shocked by, the part she herself had glossed over as complete nonsense: Holly's suggestion that Kurt's affairs had been as numerous and long-standing as Diane's record of manipulating witness testimony. Both were equally absurd. "Oh, no. No. Almost nothing she said was even close to the truth."

Debbie's eyes narrow to slits. "You so sure of that?"

"Yes." Diane reaches out for Kurt's leg and squeezes it under the table. She didn't have to wonder or ask him to know that. "They are the lies of a petty woman who didn't get what she wanted from Kurt, and now she seems to take a good deal of pleasure in hurting him any way she can."

Kurt stays silent, looking down. He is past wallowing in guilt over the kernel of truth in that article, but he certainly isn't going to protest full innocence to either of them.

"Well, I think that's a load of garbage, then," Debbie spits. "And I'm sorry for both of you."

Diane leans forward on the table, her eyebrows knit in concern. "There's a good chance nothing will come of this. Judicial seats aren't the sexiest races, this lowbrow attempt at stirring up drama notwithstanding. But if it does catch on, some reporter who wants a new angle might look you up..."

"Ha!" Debbie sits back in her chair, grinning smugly at the thought. "Let 'em come. I'd love to tell them what I think."

"That's just what we're afraid of," Kurt says drily.

"I might not be as polite as The Supreme, here, but you know I got your back, big brother," Debbie says, still laughing. "Sorry about what I said."

"Don't worry about it," Kurt waves it away.

Diane looks over at him, and can tell he _is_ worrying about it, whatever he says. If his own sister could have that gut reaction, so will everyone who reads it. She reaches over again and takes his arm, running her hand soothingly up and down it until he meets her gaze and she elicits a smile from him, albeit a weak one. _I'm here,_ she telegraphs to him, and she knows he understands. No matter how bad things may get.

The slamming of the front screen door jolts them both back into the moment, finding Debbie watching their wordless little exchange with what looks like mild amusement. And maybe, in some strange way, appreciation.

"That's Joey coming back from his morning run," Debbie explains.

Kurt exchanges glances with both of them and sighs heavily. "I think I'll go upstairs and talk to him alone, if you don't mind."

"Of course," Diane says. She imagines telling his nephew about the article will be even a good deal harder than telling his sister, and she can well understand his wanting to do it man to man. Those horrible words tear his character to shreds, and Joey has always looked to him as a hero.

Well, heroes need to come down off their pedestal, as she has learned herself. But placed squarely on solid ground, he is an honest and good man. She has no doubt that Joey's faith in that won't be shaken one bit after Kurt tells him what he needs to.

"And after all that, I'm going to need a cigarette," Debbie announces, rising and moving toward the patio door.

Diane nods and reaches for a section of newspaper she has left behind, happy to let everyone go about their business while she takes a quiet moment for herself. She isn't sure how many of those she will have for the next several days.

"Hey, come out with me," Debbie calls over her shoulder. "I have some things I need to say to you, too."


	41. Chapter 41

Diane raises an eyebrow, then picks up her coffee to follow the younger woman outside. Debbie is already seated on the settee, cigarette in her mouth. She flicks her lighter and touches the resulting flame to the tip of the cigarette, curving her hand around it to block the wind and inhaling deeply.

Diane takes the seat across from and upwind of her, crossing her legs and resting her mug of coffee on her knee, waiting to see what Debbie has to say.

Whatever it is, she takes her time in getting to it, instead looking out over the property. The leaves are already mostly gone from the gnarled fruit trees that dot the yard.  It’s not an especially cold morning, for October, but still Diane begins to wish she had brought a sweater out with her. She adjusts her hold on her coffee, flattening her palms against the mug to warm them.

“Part of my program is making amends,” Debbie says at last, her words coming in a rush after a couple minutes of silence. “I was a bitch to you the last few times I saw you, and…well of most of time before that, too. I wanted to say I’m sorry for that. We’re very different people, you and me, but I can see you love my brother, and he loves you. So, that makes us family, and I look out for my family. You don’t have to worry about any reporters calling me.” Finished, she pulls deeply on her cigarette and only then meets Diane’s eyes and nods once, quickly.

“Thank you, Debbie,” Diane says quietly. “I appreciate that wasn’t easy for you to say.”

“Yeah, well. Don’t think it makes us best buds or anything. I still don’t know how you walk around with that stick up your ass.” The words are the same ones she’s hurled at her before, but this time the tone is different – not vindictive now, more mischievous, and she smiles in the same familiar, lopsided style Diane so loves on Kurt.

“And I still can’t believe you kiss your child with that mouth,” Diane returns, rolling her eyes, but grinning, pleased at what seems to be a new understanding between them. Besides the fact that she wants them to get along for Kurt’s sake, she genuinely likes the other woman when she isn’t going out of her way to be difficult.

Debbie stabs out her cigarette and stands, shuddering. “Fucking freezing out here. Come on; let’s go back in.”

Diane trails her back into the house, where they find Kurt has returned downstairs alone, and is now reading the newspaper Debbie left spread over the table, the fingers of one hand tapping against his coffee mug.

“How was that?” Debbie asks, jerking her head, to indicate Joey upstairs.

“About what I expected,” Kurt says, picking up his coffee and taking gulp. “He didn’t say much, but I think I got my point across. I told him I fucked up, but that I’m doing what I can to make up for it.”

“And that the article is a pack of lies?” Diane asks, walking around the table to stand behind him. It would be just like him to downplay that part. She rests her hands on his shoulders, fingers pressing firmly against his tense muscles.

“Yeah, told him that too, but also that there wouldn’t be an article in the first place if it wasn’t for what I did.”

Diane starts to object, but he silences her by reaching up to take her hands and squeezing lightly. “It’s true, Diane. You know it is. I’m not taking responsibility for her lies, but it’s a fact that I’m the reason anyone gave her an audience.” He brings one of hands to his lips and quickly kisses her knuckles, then lets go and picks up his coffee again, as if that’s the end of that.

She’s not quite ready to let that statement stand. She slides into the chair beside him. “And so I am, Kurt. I’m the reason we’re in the public eye at all, and…”

“Knock it off, both of you,” Debbie interjects sharply, sounding like the mom she is. She turns to Kurt. “Did he read the article?”

“No, he said he had to go have a shower. I said if he changes his mind and has any questions to call me. All I can do.”

“I’ll talk to him later when you’re gone, after he’s had time to think.” Debbie says. “Don’t worry about it. He loves you, and he’s a smart kid. He’ll understand.”

 

***

 

Kurt and Diane leave for Springfield shortly after lunch. The remainder of the morning had passed pleasantly, the three of them sitting around drinking coffee and talking. Joey had joined them after a while, and if he was disturbed by anything he had learned that morning, he didn’t show it. Kurt again mentioned buying a motorcycle, perhaps in the spring, and Joey enthusiastically agreed to help him research makes and models.

Eli calls when they’re almost there to tell her not to rush back to the city, and not to answer her phone for anyone other than him. Most of the Chicago news outlets are looking for comment and he is giving everyone the same brief statement.  _ Ms. Westfall has an obvious axe to grind, but the full story is already public record and has been for more than two years, including her own words at the time. _ Full stop.

He gives his blessing to their plan to stay out of sight until Monday afternoon, and Diane disconnects.

“You’re sure you want to do this?” Kurt asks, his eyes not leaving the road. “We could just go home.”

“Dear god, no -- let’s put that off as long as possible.” Already she has a dozen messages on her phone from calls she didn’t answer. No doubt there are more waiting at both homes on their rarely used landlines.

“Take the next exit,” she commands abruptly, having returned to the phone app she was looking at prior to Eli’s call.

Kurt’s brow wrinkles. “But the Springfield exit isn’t until the one after that.”

“I know. Take the next one. Please.”

Kurt shrugs and flicks on the signal light, smoothly gliding over into the right lane on the nearly deserted highway.

Diane continues to give directions until they are driving along a quiet rural road, lined on both sides by thick forest. “Slow down -- it should be...” She pauses, consulting her phone. “Yes, there.” She points at a driveway on the right hand side with a For Sale sign planted in the ground beside it. “Pull in there.”

He’s no longer looking at her like she’s lost her mind, having figured out her game several turns back, and simply accedes to her wishes, spinning the wheel and driving up the paved lane.

At the end of it, they pull into a clearing where the driveway loops around in front of a rustic Cape Cod style log home with a large stone chimney.

Kurt whistles lowly and Diane can’t help but smile at the way his eyes light up. A cabin in the woods, just like she had accused him of having the day they first met. She wonders if he remembers that. Of course, this place is far grander than anything she had in mind then. 

“There’s fifteen acres attached, including a stream,” she tells him. “Four bedrooms, so we can each have an office, plus a guest room. Three baths, a fireplace, a chef’s kitchen. There’s a garage around back, I believe.”

Kurt is still staring at the house in awe, but then he shakes his head as if clearing his head of visions of hiking through the surrounding woods. “I don’t know, Diane. It’s pretty far from Springfield, and secluded. It wouldn’t work for when you have to be here alone.”

She rolls her eyes, but refrains from commenting on his protective streak, ignoring the sexist overtones. Rational or not, she’s long since learned it is his way of showing love. “Dear, it’s only twenty minutes, and mostly on the highway. And we can get an alarm system and a dog. Come on, let’s at least see if we can get a look inside. I can call the realtor and set something up for tomorrow.”

He looks over at her, pondering, then leans across the car and kisses her neck, just below her ear. “Fine. But look on that thing for some condos in the city that we can see, too.”

 

***

 

It is the sunlight streaming in through the windows they were too preoccupied to cover that wakes Diane in the morning. Slowly, she takes in more of the charming inn suite than she had bothered to the night before, the trail of clothing hastily cast aside guiding the path of her gaze. She laughs silently to herself, remembering how each oddly strewn article had come to its resting place, first tearing into one another like twentysomethings who had fifteen minutes alone before a roommate returned, then, finding the bed, exploring one another as if they had all the time in the world.

She looks over at him, even in sleep looking somehow as contented as she feels, the sheet pulled up just to his hipbone, affording her a nice view. She resists the urge to slide her hand over the length of his chest and torso, then casts aside the second and even more appealing thought of straddling his practically beckoning hips to give him a very good morning indeed. She will let him sleep, she decides finally, propping her head on one hand and carefully moving close enough to feel the warmth of his body, to look, but not to touch. It's so rare they have the chance to sleep in as late as they like, and today feels like an unexpected gift, still ignoring the real world, their phones and their responsibilities holding no power over them. Nevermind where that gift came from; she'll take it.

She loves watching him sleep, always has; there is something so calm and certain about him in sleep that makes her feel perfectly at ease, perfectly right. He has that effect on her almost always, awake no less than asleep, but there was a time early in their relationship when it felt like her only respite, when everything between them seemed charged with something incongruous and somehow illicit, she found it strangely relaxing to simply watch him sleep. That is, when she didn't dash off in the middle of the night, she thinks with a smile, and perhaps it was for just that reason that she started to stay.

Even in the worst of times, when they couldn't connect, when they couldn't say what they meant to say, when even sex felt like a patch at best, it was these quiet moments that cemented her love for him. Waking up beside him, a new day, seeing him with fresh eyes so open and guileless, strong, present, not going anywhere... It never failed to reset and renew her, the simple weight of his body beside her, the fact of his slow steady breathing. It was what she missed most, perhaps, when he was gone, her sleepy morning mind never quite shaking the expectation that she could look over and find him there.

She remembers the end -- the end of what they were before; she doesn't quite know what to call that now -- when deep down she knew something was horribly, irrevocably wrong, there was still solace in these moments, a sense that whatever it was could be put right again because he was still  _ here_ , unchanged, as always. Even now, she can't help it -- he is  _ here_, she is looking right at him -- she wonders if she was not wrong, if she could have tried, two years gone, she had very nearly lost him for good, had nearly lost the one constant, steady force in her life...

"What are you thinking?"

His voice, quiet and gentle, shocks her back to the present, and she finds there are tears in her eyes. She blinks them back, looking up to meet his gaze, calm and certain as ever.

Two years gone, yes, but they have today. They have the rest of their lives, and no one is going anywhere.

She shakes her head slowly, not sure of the words and almost letting them go unsaid. But they don't do that anymore. "Sad thoughts, I don't know why. Grateful thoughts, too. I love you."

He studies her for long moments, but any concern that registers is slight and short-lived. He reaches up and caresses her face lightly with the back of his fingers, then turns his palm over to run through her hair. She turns into his touch, his solid, real touch, pressing kisses against his wrist, his forearm, accepting the light pressure of his hand encouraging her lower until her lips meet with his and find nothing but understanding. And he kisses her sadly, he kisses her gratefully, he kisses her like he is never, ever going to let her go.

"I love you, too," he says, his voice catching with emotion as they part.

She gives him a last smiling peck as they adjust to face each other on their sides, letting their heads fall to their pillows again, in no rush to do anything in particular.

"I'm not haunted by the past, you know," she says quietly, a bit sheepish now that the moment has passed.

"I know," he says, and something in his tone convinces her he really does know, without an ounce of worry or hesitation.

"And I'm not afraid of the future, either," she adds, reaching out to take his hand and squeezing it. "I guess we've been taking things one day at a time, and that's been wonderful. But I want to plan our life, too."

A slow smile spreads across his face, illuminating his handsome features. "That's what I want, too."

She raises her eyebrows, ready to reel him in now that she has him on the hook. "Let's go look at the house."

He laughs, shaking his head into the pillow. " _ And _ some condos in the city."

"That was the deal," she shrugs. "Seems like a waste of time when that place is so perfect, but that was the deal..."

"I'm sorry, am I talking to the same woman I couldn't get to pull over and drive through town just two days ago? Once you set your mind to something you really go all the way, don't you?"

"You know me, dear," she almost singsongs, teasing him.

"I do know you," he says, leaning in to kiss her again.

"Sometimes it takes me a while to see what I really want," she says softly, resting her forehead against his. "But when it's right, it's right."


	42. Chapter 42

While Kurt is in the shower Diane calls the realtor, who is all too willing to set up some showings on short notice, sensing a surefire sale. They arrange to meet in two hours, starting in Springfield, as even Diane has to admit is only logical, although she is sure her marked lack of enthusiasm makes it quite clear it’s the cozy place in the woods she really has her eye on.

"This the place?" Kurt squints at the address as he pulls up to the first building, where they planned to meet.

"I think so," Diane says, already unimpressed by the utilitarian look of the building, the characterless sameness of the whole street.

"See," he says as he rounds the car and joins her on the sidewalk, gesturing at the surroundings as if he is looking at an entirely different view. "You're a five-minute drive from the courthouse, just turn left on Jackson and you're right there."

She sighs, shaking her head as she walks away from him. That is hardly the romantic proposition that is going to sweep her off her feet today. He jogs to catch up with her a moment later, following her into the lobby, somewhat bewildered by her attitude.

"Are you Rebecca Shaw?" Diane reaches out a hand to the young woman standing in the lobby who looks something like the small photo on the listing, and is holding a briefcase besides.

"I am! Nice to meet you, Diane, glad you called me," she takes Diane's offered hand and shakes it enthusiastically, then turns to Kurt. "And you must be Mr, um, Mr Lockhart?"

"No, no no. We didn't, I mean, I'm not… " Kurt laughs awkwardly, looking sideways at Diane. “Kurt McVeigh,” he offers finally, giving up on the explanation and just extending his own hand.

"Oh, how embarrassing!" Rebecca exclaims as they shake, not looking ruffled in the least. "I'm always assuming about people, you'd think I'd learn in my profession. You don't look like the kind of woman who would take her husband's name."

Now it is Diane who is taken aback, feeling her cheeks flush under the younger woman's expectant grin, and Kurt's growing amusement with the whole situation. "Well, we're not -- I mean, we were -- it's complicated," Diane finally sighs, giving up as well.

She meets Kurt's gaze again and they both laugh, letting the tension go. There is no easy word for what they are, but at least they find themselves on the same page about it.

"Well, come on in and let me show you the unit, whatever you are!" Rebecca joins their laughter with almost absurd enthusiasm, then sets off down the hall like a shot, waving them toward the elevator.

Looking dubious, Diane shrugs and reaches down to entwine her fingers with Kurt's, and follows.

The first condo is so generic and dull, with its beige walls and perfectly rectangular rooms, Diane suspects she would want to shoot herself after living there for a week. Kurt is clearly no more impressed than she, but stubbornly refuses to give up his argument for proximity, halfheartedly quizzing Rebecca on traffic patterns and nighttime noise until Diane gives up walks right out the front door, leaving them staring after her.

The second option is better. The top two floors of a converted century home, the condo overlooks a lovely little park with a duck pond in the middle, and it has character Diane would probably be drawn to, had she not already given her heart to the house in the woods and the man she knows belongs there.

"You like it," he whispers in her ear as they stand in front of the large front window. "Admit it."

"No," she replies, contrarily not looking at him.

His hand rises up to rest at her waist. "You like it," he insists, fingers tapping against her side.

"I like you,” she tells him, bumping his hip with hers.

Behind them, Rebecca clears her throat. "Do you have any questions about the place?" she asks.

Kurt does: questions about the neighbourhood, the condo board, the terms and conditions, but Diane knows his heart isn't truly in it. She doesn't even bother; it’s a nice place for someone, but not for them. Despite the dance he's insisting on putting them through, her mind was made up yesterday, and she knows in the end he won’t deny her this.

"We'd like to see that house now." Impatient, she interrupts their conversation about building maintenance the same way she once interrupted prosecutors. “Wouldn’t we, dear?”

***

The house almost seems to glow in the midday sun when they pull into the clearing at the end of the tree-lined lane, and despite having seen it just the day before, Diane feels a bit like Dorothy catching her first glimpse of the Emerald City.

In the driver’s seat beside her, Kurt looks equally awestruck, his stream of positive comments about the second condo trailing off mid-sentence.

Diane smiles knowingly, but holds her tongue. The house will convince him for her; of this, she has no doubt.

The two of them exit the car just as Rebecca pulls in behind them. “Do you want to have a look around the property before we go inside?” With instincts born out of years of practice reading potential buyers, Rebecca seems to have zeroed in on the best way to sell Kurt. Diane, of course, has made no secret of the fact that she is already sold.

Her heels sinking into the grass, the realtor leads them around to the back of the house, pointing out different landscaping features on the way.

Diane stops, grabbing Kurt’s arm and pointing at the back of the house. “Kurt,” she breathes. “Look.”

A large enclosed sunroom juts out from the back of the house, windows extending up from the floor then curving around to form the roof. At one end, double glass doors open onto a deck that runs the rest of the length of the house and extends around the corner.

“We could do yoga in there in the morning sun; it would be perfect,” she says, squeezing his arm.

“Even more perfect would be _you_ doing yoga, and me watching,” he corrects, patting her hand, but she can tell he enjoys the picture she paints.

“There’s a built-in grill on the deck, and those other doors on the side lead to the great room kitchen,” Rebecca informs them, noticing their interest. “We can look more closely when we go inside. And then over here is the garage.” She points to a large building at the back of the property almost to the treeline. An extension from the curved driveway out front leads up a large overhead door. “It’s not attached, but it’s big enough for two cars and the usual assortment of garden equipment.”

“And a motorcycle,” Kurt says quietly, almost to himself.

“And I won’t walk you through the woods,” Rebecca continues, “but there’s a trail that winds through the acreage and meets up with a stream. I’m told the fishing is pretty good.”

Kurt grins at that, rocking a bit on his heels, and Diane knows then that she has him.

The three of them then walk back around to the front of the house and enter through the front door into a large, airy, two storey entryway. Directly in front of them is a rustic-looking hardwood staircase angling up to the second floor bedrooms and a large open loft-like area. To their left is a great room with a huge stone fireplace and double glass doors opening onto the deck they saw outside. And to their right is an archway, beyond which is a small powder room, and the hallway leading to the master suite.

Kurt follows Rebecca into the great room, while Diane lags behind, staring up at the staircase thoughtfully.

"Hey, I thought I lost you." Kurt doubles back after a minute, unable to even pretend he isn't as enthusiastic about the house as she is now. "You should see the view from the front, it's -- what?" He stops mid-sentence, following her gaze up the stairs, but he doesn't see what she does.

"Nothing, Mr Lockhart," she says playfully and grins back at him, enjoying his growing bewilderment. Then with a little toss of her hair she moves to climb the stairs to explore the second floor. She pauses at the landing, holding out her hand for him to follow. He does so, compliant but no less confused.

"What are we going to do with all this space?" he asks in halfhearted protest, wandering into the loft area and glancing over the banister to the great room below.

"Well, we could use this as an office," Diane muses, picturing where her desk would be placed to take fullest advantage of the natural light streaming in.

"And the other two bedrooms?" He walks back in her direction, a skeptical kind of smirk on his face.

"Guest rooms. We want Debbie and Joey to be comfortable, don't we?" She meets him halfway across the room, her hands sliding easily around his waist, giving him a little peck. "And Laura. And my friends you like so much."

With another teasing little smile, she withdraws and crosses the hall to look at the other two bedrooms.

"Yeah, one problem with the layout there," he calls after her.

"What?" she asks, distractedly, checking out the closet space and nodding appreciatively.

He leans against the door jamb, his eyebrows raised meaningfully. "They're right above the master bedroom."

She rolls her eyes but laughs, breezing past him to continue her inspection. "You think you're irresistible."

"Yep."

After they complete the rounds, Rebecca rejoins them in the master suite downstairs, checking in but equally glad to give them their space. "What do you think? Any questions for me?"

"It's perfect for us," Diane smiles, her gaze shifting from Rebecca to Kurt. "I knew it would be."

He sighs and shakes his head. "I do have a few questions. How long has it been on the market?"

Diane only half hears her answer, wandering off to take a look at the spacious great room, mentally arranging her furniture for a few moments before she stops herself. She would have the time of her life decorating this place from top to bottom, already imagining the walls in a rust color, filling the room with mahogany and dark leather. But she will wait for him to catch up and feel ready for that conversation. Every inch of this house should feel like theirs, this time -- finally, their home.

She walks over to the windows and has to agree with Kurt about the view. Most of the front yard is shaded by a fully grown birch and Japanese maple, both at the peak of their autumn color. The end of the property is bordered by evergreen shrubs that block the view of the road completely. She can easily picture them curled up there on the front porch swing at the end of a long day, watching the sun set behind the trees.

Smiling to herself, she turns back to rejoin Kurt, hoping he has found some minor but real flaw he can corner her with, as she knows he won't stop looking for it until he does. But to her surprise, she finds him neither testing the water pressure nor grilling Rebecca about foreclosures in the area, but standing there in the foyer staring up the staircase, the ghost of a smile playing across his lips. Perhaps he is starting to see what she sees here, she thinks.

"What are you looking at?" she asks him innocently, sliding one arm around his waist.

"Nothing,” he says, flashing her a lopsided grin, welcoming her embrace.

"Where did Rebecca go?"

"Oh, she said they replaced the garage door opener a year ago and I asked if she could make sure they have the warranty."

"You made her call them?" Diane gives him a little shove, amused that that is the battle he is choosing to fight.

"She offered! She's eager to please. I bet she thinks you'll write a check on our way out, the way you're acting."

"Well, of course I won't do that," she says in mock indignation. "We'll go home and we'll talk about it and we'll sleep on it. And then we'll call her in the morning and put in an offer."

He laughs, but she can sense something in his mood has suddenly changed. He was only joking in his protests before, but she can feel him starting to pull back altogether now.

"What's wrong?" she asks, her teasing attitude disappearing just as quickly.

"Nothing, nothing's wrong." He sighs, knowing her well enough to not even bother trying to avoid a conversation that easily. "There's a lot we need to think about. I don't think we should make any snap decisions, that's all."

"No, of course," she agrees quickly. "I was joking about making an offer tomorrow. Mostly joking," she adds, trying to lighten the mood again. But his sudden cooling on the idea has unnerved her.

"Well!" Rebecca announces her return from a distance, not wanting to sneak up on what must clearly look like a private moment. "He says he'll look for the paperwork. He's sure he has it."

"Good, good, thank you," Kurt says, but as casual as he sounds, Diane can sense his ongoing discomfort, and knows he won't feel right until they leave.

"Rebecca, thank you so much for all your time today," Diane reaches over to shake the other woman's hand, a definite air of finality in her tone.

"Absolutely, if you have any questions or concerns at all, I hope you'll call me," she says, taking the hint. She pulls a business card from her portfolio and hands it to Diane. "And if I didn’t show you your dream home today, I still hope you'll call me. I'll find it for you!"

"We will definitely be in touch," Diane smiles warmly, then turns to go.

"For what it's worth," Rebecca calls after them, "I can one hundred percent see you two happy here. Yes, it's my job to sell you a home, but it's also my job to know when a match is just _right_."

"Thank you," Diane says simply, resisting the urge to agree wholeheartedly, no less convinced of its rightness but drained of some of her enthusiasm by whatever has happened.

"Thanks," Kurt says too, reaching down to take Diane's hand, just as attuned to her need for reassurance. "Take care."


	43. Chapter 43

Kurt is already sitting at the breakfast bar, his broad back to her, the newspaper spread out and a coffee at his elbow, when Diane enters the kitchen, fastening her watch as she walks.

“You were up early,” she comments, crossing to the counter for coffee. He had already been gone from their bed when her alarm went off at six. Out for a run before work she had assumed, but he shows no signs of that now.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he tells her, without looking up from his paper. “There’s fresh squeezed orange juice in the fridge and muffins in the basket.”

She fills her mug and takes a careful sip before walking it over and setting it in front of the stool next to him. When she returns with some juice and a blueberry muffin, she finds he has slid the paper over to her spot and stood up.

“Where are you going?” she asks, surprised. It’s her favourite morning ritual, eating breakfast together, sharing the paper and arguing over the politics section.

“Going to shower,” he says, leaning over and giving her a peck on the cheek. “Have to get into school early. The Dean wants to see me.”

He’s trying to play it off as normal, but some strained note in his voice suggests this isn’t a routine meeting about exam schedules or guest lecturers. “Why?” she asks, eyes narrowing.

His face is its usual blank canvas, giving away little to anyone who doesn’t know him. But Diane does know him, better than anyone, and the tension in his jaw is readily apparent now that she’s looking for it.

“Kurt, why?” she repeats when he doesn’t answer.

He sighs deeply, then holds out his hand to her. She takes it and allows herself to be pulled from her stool and into his arms. He holds her tightly, his face buried in the crook of her neck, his breath warm against her skin.

As she waits for him to speak, she glides her hands rhythmically up and down his back, smoothing the fabric of his soft grey t-shirt and the tense muscles underneath. This is worrisome. Thinking back, she has to acknowledge that he’s been off-kilter for several days now, since their return from Debbie’s by way of Springfield. Or… no, since even before then, if she’s being honest. He’s been quiet off and on ever since that awful article came out.

After a moment or two he loosens his hold on her, then leans in and brushes his lips softly against hers. She follows him back when he starts to pull away, her hands rising to cup his face, prolonging their kiss, attempting to reassure him without words that he can always, always, talk to her about anything.

He gives in to her attentions, but only for a minute. When he breaks the kiss for a second time, his hands leave her waist and come to grip her arms, firmly sliding up and down them a couple of times. He releases a frustrated breath. “The Dean wants to see me about that article,” he admits at last. “He has concerns about my history with students.  _ Concerns_.” The disgust in his voice as he repeats the word is palpable.

“But that’s ridiculous. She hadn’t been a student in years when what happened… happened.”

“I know that, and you know that, but…” He lets her go and lifts his hands in exasperation. “I guess everything I’ve ever done is questionable now.”

She can feel the blood draining from her face. Schools take these kind of allegations seriously. He could lose his job over this. And it’s her fault. If she weren’t running for office, none of this would have come up again. Once again, her ambition is wreaking havoc on Kurt’s life. She turns away, walking back to the breakfast bar, bracing her hands against it and leaning forward.  _ Damn_, she mouths silently.  _ Damn it_.

“Hey,” he says, coming up beside her and resting his hands on her hips. “Don’t worry, okay. I’m just going to go talk to the guy. I’ll tell him the whole story, and he’ll see it had nothing to do with my teaching.” He steps away, picking up his empty mug and carries it to the dishwasher.

His words are so  _ Kurt_, she could almost laugh. He’s justifiably upset right up until he sees the slightest indication she might be upset too, and then suddenly he’s the one reassuring her. It’s one of the things she loves about him, but right now it just stings.

The calls and the questions about her own ethical choices she can handle, and has, almost non-stop since they returned to the city. But to see it come to this… If she had any idea the intrusion into their personal life would go this far, she never would have decided to run.

“I should drop out,” she says, not realizing she’s said it aloud until his head flies up.

“What?” he asks, incredulous.

“We could run away together,” she says, warming to the idea. “Leave all this nonsense behind us. Costa Rica, just like you always wanted. Whaddya say?”

He laughs. “I’ll always say yes to that, but don’t you think it’s a bit of an overreaction?”

She has to laugh too, pleased to see some of the tension leaving his face. “No. Maybe a little.”

“Let’s just see what happens, okay?” He shakes his head, lopsided smile still firmly in place.

“Okay. Okay. But call me after you talk to the Dean.”

“I will.”

Kurt disappears upstairs and Diane returns to her breakfast. That nasty little article has become the gift that keeps on giving. It doesn’t appear to have hurt her chances of winning the election, but it’s inspired several varieties of loons to demonstrate against her and her modern divorcee ways, and on top of that, Fran and Lyle are threatening to visit, to help her through “this difficult time.”

That, at least, she can head off at the pass. But this thing with Kurt’s job is outside her reach. If the Dean doesn’t believe the truth… She can’t even begin to think what that will do to him.

And, she suspects that’s not all that’s going on behind his stoic façade. He’s been holding his emotions close, doing his best to wall them off where she can’t see. Something occurred to Kurt while they were viewing the Springfield house, some thought he hasn’t yet shared with her, that soured him on the purchase. She’s trying to be patient, to have faith that all the work they’ve done together rebuilding trust over the last six months means that he  _ will _ talk to her eventually, as soon he’s got things straight in his own mind, but in the meantime she worries they’ll miss their chance.

There will be other houses, she knows, but her heart is set on that gorgeous cabin in the woods. It’s perfect in every way, and she knows they will be happy there, finally, in  _ their _ home  _ together_. But even more than that, she can’t seem to shake the image of herself walking down that stunning staircase to join him in standing in front of the big stone fireplace to make their vows to each other for the second and final time. She wants him to share that vision with her, wants him to see it himself without prompting, as she momentarily thought he had during the viewing.

But all that will have to wait now. Understandably, he has other things on his mind at the moment. And so should she, she realizes, checking her watch. She has a meeting with Eli in an hour to go over their schedule for the final week of campaigning before the election. Moving aside the newspaper, she retrieves her portfolio and begins making notes for the meeting as she finishes her breakfast.

She’s still there, sipping cold coffee and grimacing, when Kurt returns, his hair still damp from the shower.

“Mmm, you smell good,” she says, catching him by the lapel of his jacket when he passes and drawing him closer.

He turns his head to kiss her quickly. “Do you need a ride anywhere?” he asks, gently removing her hand from his jacket and going over to the coffee maker to fill a travel mug for the road.

“No, thanks. I think I’ll drive myself today -- I have some running around to do after I see Eli. But I’ll meet you back here before the dinner?” She suspects he’s forgotten all about the black tie fundraising event on the agenda for tonight, but if that’s the case, he covers well enough.

“The dinner. Right.” He nods, more to himself, she thinks, than to her. “What time do you need me back here?”

“Seven?”

“No problem. See ya then.” He kisses her twice more, once quickly, once more lingering, before leaving the room.

“Good luck,” she calls after him, but when the door slams shut on the last word, she knows he hasn’t heard her.

  
  


***

 

"Eli's waiting for you. You can go on in."

Diane nods her thanks to Eli's faithful assistant Nora, who barely let Diane get in the door before waving her through. She isn't accustomed to such expedient proceedings; Eli always has four things going on at once, and invariably Diane can count on twenty minutes waiting on him to work on her own business. That she has suddenly become his first and only priority is not something she’s certain she should take as a good sign.

"Diane," he greets her brusquely, barely looking up. Suddenly Diane feels as if she's been called into the principal's office every bit as much as Kurt has.

"Eli," she tosses back, responding to him in kind, if not in tone. She can't quite hold back a wry smile as she takes her seat opposite him, amused more than unnerved by the unusual welcome she is receiving.

With a dramatic sigh -- nothing unusual about that, at least -- Eli closes his laptop and turns his full attention to her. "We did some polling."

Diane raises a single eyebrow. "On me?"

"Of course, on you."

"But you told me you never bother with polling -- 'minor race, sure-fire win,'" she quotes his words back to him.

"That was  _ before_," he sighs again, and Diane judges from his beleaguered attitude it might be best not to push him any further. "I needed to know how much this story has cost you."

And suddenly, she is in no mood to play around herself. "You can't be serious. Eli, it's all nonsense!"

"Nonsense that won't die can be just as damaging as an ugly truth, Diane. People are talking about it every time they talk about you. And they're talking about you a lot more now --  _ that’s _ the problem."

"Well? How much trouble am I in?" If they are going to have to talk about it, too, she would much rather he cut to the chase.

"You're not going to lose. The margin isn't as wide as I'd like, but there's no way you lose."

Her eyes narrow, studying him. This conclusion doesn't appear to make him any calmer. "Then what's the problem?"

"The problem is with the donors, Diane! The problem is with the party!"

He seems so agitated now, in fact, that she doesn't see the upside of voicing her instinctive thought: that's not my problem. She leans forward, trying to put it a bit more tactfully. "Eli, there's a week left in this thing, and that story has surely done all the damage it can do by now. If I'm still up in the polls, then what difference--"

"You still don't get it," he interrupts her. "You still think you can afford to be naive about politics. You think you're above it. You think it doesn't impact you. It's all a means to an end to you."

She straightens up, indignant. "Well, yes. I've done what I had to to get elected, but once I'm on the Court--"

"You think you're going to sit on your bench looking down on the rest of us, immune to the petty and dirty realities of governing."

"Eli, I don't need a lecture," she rolls her eyes at him. "Bottom line it for me."

"You're going to need the party when your term is over. You're going to need the party when it's time to select the next Chief Justice. You're going to need the party to back you up every time you want to hand down one of your high-minded, impartial, judicially pure decisions, Diane. No one is above it."

She lets out a sigh of her own, looking past him to stare out the window for a few moments, letting his words settle in, mulling them over for herself. She is determined to be the sort of judge she wants to be; she will never allow the party to influence her decisions. But she know he is right. She will never be completely outside of that world, either.

She turns back to him again, her jaw set. "Then how much trouble am I in with the donors and with the party?"

"You're seen as a damaged candidate and a weakened moral figure. They certainly like their judges to  _ appear _ above reproach," he laughs darkly, then adds quickly: "I know it's nonsense, you know it's nonsense, they know it's nonsense. But you've taken a hit for it. You have three marks against you now: there's a whiff of scandal, there's adultery, and there's your ties to a man with right-wing ideas outside the mainstream."

Diane feels herself grimacing at each one, but persists undaunted. If this is a test of her will, she intends to pass it. "You've worked with worse."

"Yes." A twisted smile crosses his face before he goes on. "For a good candidate, they'll put up with one demerit. For a great candidate, they'll put up with two. You're a great candidate, Diane. But this is making them very, very nervous."

"So what do I do now?"

"It's time to pander."

She laughs in spite of herself. "Okay. I can do that."

"I'm serious. At the fundraiser tonight, I need you in top form. Charm them. Find out what they want and promise it. Find out what concerns them and minimize it. You need to put the big donors at ease, Diane, and get them writing checks again. Do that, and you'll put the party at ease, too."

She meets his gaze steadily, unfazed by this directive. She isn't sure why he insists on painting her as some wide-eyed idealist; she has built her whole career on doing what needs to be done. She won't hesitate to do that one last time to clear this last hurdle. "I get it, Eli. I'll charm them."

He studies her for a moment, and is evidently satisfied. "Good. And there's just one more thing. For the love of god, don't bring Kurt tonight."

"No. That's out of the question."

"Then you don't get it. How are you going to persuade anyone to see you as a sound investment -- and that's what you are to them, Diane, an  _ investment_ \-- if you have the man who reminds them of literally everything that's risky about you on your arm?"

She shakes her head, adamant. "I don't care, Eli. He's my--"

She hesitates, her voice catching on that word, and he seizes the opening, as if declaring checkmate. "Your what? What is he, Diane? I told you when we started this might be more palatable if he was your husband, but--"

"Enough!" Diane shouts, standing in one swift movement, towering over him in her anger. She realizes a second later, amplified by the shock on his face and the silence in the room, that the word came out much louder than she intended. She softens, but isn't about to back down. "You're strategizing, Eli. It's your job, and you're good at it. And I'm sure you're right. And I will follow your strategy like a good little soldier when it comes to playing politics. But this isn't politics. This is my life."

"It is my job," he acknowledges, looking chagrined. "And it's a part of my job I really, really hate. You know, if I could pick candidates who choose to have no personal life whatsoever, I'd be a lot happier. I'd still have my hair!"

"I know," she laughs, grateful to him for lightening the mood, and feeling a bit embarrassed herself.

"But like it or not, Diane, this  _ is _ politics, too. I'm telling you, politically, if you walk in there with him tonight, it's a risk. Politically, I have to advise you against it."

"I understand," she says softly, willing to accept that, but unwilling to change her mind. She knows Eli has said all he needs to say, too.

He stands, walking around his desk to stand beside her, a look she can't quite read playing across his face as he moves. But it is not an unkind one. "Speaking as your friend, however, I think you should do what you feel is right."

It is an awkward and unexpected declaration, but one that means a great deal to her nonetheless. "Thank you, Eli."

He holds her gaze for a moment, then breaks it just as suddenly, glancing down at his watch. "I hate to rush you out of here, and I really did have other things to discuss..." He turns back to his desk, rifling through a stack of papers and pulling out a slim folder. "Your marching orders for the next week. Read it over, we can discuss tonight. Pending any changes that might be necessary as a direct result of tonight, of course."

"Damned candidates and their damned personal lives," she laughs, taking the folder and stepping away, sensing the usual pandemonium is about to descend.

"Hey, Diane?" He calls after her, making her turn before she has quite reached the door. "Your term is long, people's memories are short. If you screw up tonight, we'll get 'em the next time."

"That's reassuring, Eli, thanks." 

She shakes her head as she goes, half amused and half annoyed by the whole exchange, but well aware by now at least of the power of second chances.


	44. Chapter 44

Diane’s phone begins to ring as she is unlocking the front door of the townhouse while juggling several shopping totes and two large garment bags. Swearing colourfully, she finally fumbles her key into the lock, then shoves the door open and drops everything at her feet to dig into her purse for her phone.

As it does every time, even now, six months in and fully committed, her stomach jumps a little when she sees his name on her display. But this time, the little thrill of anticipation is quickly overtaken with concern when she remembers why he’s calling. The meeting with the Dean must be over.

“Hi,” she answers, kicking the bags aside as she walks further into the house. “How did it go?”

“It went,” he says shortly. “Sorry I didn’t call sooner. I had to go from the meeting right to class.”

“So you still have a job?”

“For the time being. The Dean was quite clear that while they can’t take any action against me absent a complaint from a student, he will be watching me very closely.”

She knows this is a blow. There is nothing Kurt resents more than a big brother figure of any sort watching over him. And he likes to get to know his students, to take them under his wing and mentor them in much the same way as she used to with young associates. With the ballistics business long sold, he no longer has any of them working out at the farm, but she knows he still devotes a lot of attention to helping promising students find their niche.

She nods sympathetically, though of course he cannot see. “Where are you now?”

“About to head out to the farm. Got some work I gotta do out there. What time do you need me back in the city again?”

Physical labour is like therapy to him, she knows, so while she wishes he would just come home, he’ll be in a better place sooner if she leaves him to his own devices.

“If you need to stay out there...” she starts to suggest, hesitating not only because she doesn’t want to give even the appearance of backing down to Eli, but because she really does want him there by her side. Their snarky side conversations are often the only thing that makes these events tolerable.

“No, no,” he says brusquely. “I’ll be there. When?”

“If you’re here by seven, that should leave plenty of time to get dressed. I picked up your tux at the cleaners.”

“Oh good.” She can hear the eyeroll in his words and it makes her smile in relief. He’s annoyed, but he’s okay. “I’ll talk to ya,” he says, then disconnects the call before she can say goodbye.

Sighing, she sets the phone down and gathers up the jumble at her feet, taking all the packages directly to their bedroom and into the large walk in closet. She hangs the two garment bags up side by side and unzips them. First, in his, a classically cut black tuxedo she can’t wait to see him in. There’s something about a man in a tux that has always enticed her, but most especially this particular man. With his silver hair and thick beard, he looks so distinguished and sexy; on the too-rare occasions she’s been fortunate enough to see him in one, she’s spent most of the evening imagining removing it.

Next she unzips the bag containing her dress, a floor length midnight blue formal gown with elaborate black beadwork around the midsection and trailing halfway down the skirt. She purchased it on a whim shortly after she and Kurt reunited; he’d always liked her in blue. She was excited to finally have a reason to wear it -- and, perhaps, to spark some of the same imaginings in him.

Taking a few steps backward, she examines the two outfits hanging side by side, then nods in approval. A handsome couple, indeed. What big bucks donor could possibly find reason to object to them?

Leaving the closet, she unpacks her shopping bags of accessories, undergarments, and cosmetics and puts them away until it’s time to get ready. In the meantime, she has several hours’ worth of reading to complete. Eli will have her head on a silver platter if she isn’t prepared to intelligently discuss every case that could potentially come in front of the Supreme Court within the next several years, and anything else that might be a pet concern of the supporters she has been tasked to charm and reassure. She heads to the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee and then get to work.

***

Diane has always been able to lose herself in work to the exclusion of everyone around her. Her gift for concentration has forever been both a gift and a curse – a gift when she was building a reputation for dedication and professionalism, but a curse, often, in her personal life. More times than she cares to remember, she had forgotten about their plans until Kurt appeared in her office doorway looking pointedly at his watch and trying not to laugh.

As much as she might like to think those days are in the past, she’s forced to concede they are not when she glances up from the brief she’s been puzzling over and discovers that it’s half past seven. The sun has all but set and now that she’s paying attention she can feel the tension behind her eyes from squinting in the ever increasing dark of the room. Leaning sideways and stretching out her arm, she flicks on the lamp next to the couch, then looks at her watch, in case by some chance the wall clock is lying to her.

It’s not.

While it’s completely like her to lose track of time when she’s working it’s not at all like Kurt, and a vague sense of unease settles over her like the early evening gloom. Unfolding her legs from underneath her, she leans forward and picks up her phone from the coffee table, anticipating she’s somehow missed a text, but no. She has no notifications of any sort.

Quickly tapping in his number, she holds the phone up to her ear and counts the rings.

_One…two…three…_

It occurs to her after a moment that he’s probably in the truck on his way home and isn’t able to answer, but she lets it ring a few more times anyway, then disconnects when his voicemail picks up.

Shrugging off her misgivings, she gets up and goes into the bedroom to get ready for the fundraiser. He’s still got plenty of time.

***

She hears him come in, or thinks she does, while she’s showering, while she’s blow-drying her hair, while she’s putting on makeup with the radio playing quietly in the background. Each time she calls his name, and each time she’s answered only by silence.

She places another call an hour later; enough time has passed that if he had been driving the first time, he should have long since arrived. When he doesn’t answer the second time, her earlier unease morphs into full-blown worry. She wants to get into her car and drive out to the farm right now. What if something’s happened to him? She tries to shake it off. More likely, there was some misunderstanding and he’s on his way now, or planning to meet her at the hotel. She’s almost positive she said to meet her here at home, but it’s possible their wires crossed somewhere. He’d been distracted, a bit upset; he may not have been listening carefully. Besides, Eli had been crystal clear on how important this fundraiser is. She can’t miss it.

But _why_ isn’t he answering his phone? _What if it’s his heart…_ No. No, she won’t think that way. His battery is probably dead, that’s all.

Setting her own phone back down, she goes into the walk-in closet, stopping again to examine the picture presented by the formal clothing hanging side by side. She should just go; she should drive out there to the farm, if only to put her own mind at ease. The hell with Eli. She’s not going to lose the election over being fashionably late. She’ll finish getting dressed and if she still can’t reach him, she just get in the car and go find him. She’ll hardly be able to charm anyone anyway until she knows that he’s safe.

In no time at all she’s shrugged off her robe and dressed in the new lingerie and hosiery she purchased especially for this night – a little thank-you gift to Kurt for putting up with all the bullshit that comes along with loving her. She steps into her gown, then twists and stretches until she manages to pull the zipper fully to the top, pointedly avoiding thinking how much easier it would have been with help. Fluffing her skirt into place, she crosses the room to her jewellery box.

The earrings and necklace she had selected to go with the dress are lying right on top – discrete sapphires and pearls that compliment but don’t overwhelm. She puts them on, and then, almost on autopilot, digs a little deeper into the box.

It hasn’t been here within reach all this time. For more than two years it had been hidden away in a safety deposit box, out of sight, but never quite out of mind. She had retrieved it shortly after that first dinner and had hidden it away here where she could look at it and remember what she was fighting for. Now, she slides it onto the third finger of her left hand, just for a minute, just to look, pleased by how right it still looks there.

On the bathroom vanity, her phone comes to life, clattering and bleating.

Diane turns and runs back toward the bathroom, as quickly as she can manage with her long gown swirling unhelpfully around her ankles, practically lunging for the phone. All her fears melt away in a moment when she sees his name light up on the display. Whatever reason he gives for being late is just fine by her. Just thank god -- _thank god_ \-- he is all right.

"Kurt, where are you, did something happen?" she demands, breathless.

The other end of the line crackles and breaks up, another man's unfamiliar voice responding. "--not Kurt, I'm--"

In an instant, her anxiety ratchets back up. "I'm sorry, who is this?"

"Bob, I'm-- me to call you--..."

The line cuts out again, distorting every other word. She understands nothing else in his words, but remembers Bob as Kurt's next-door neighbor, a kind man she met years ago after they were first married. If Kurt is in trouble, she will be reassured at least if he has someone who can help.

Diane closes her eyes, forcing herself to remain patient and calm until she can find out what is going on. She speaks slowly and simply, in case the other end of the call is just as bad as hers. "Where is Kurt? Is Kurt with you?"

"I'm taking-- the--" There is a long stretch of dead air, and Diane fears for a moment she's lost the call altogether. "Hello?"

"You're cutting in and out, are you driving on some back road?" Diane groans in frustration. "Can you just tell me where you're going?"

"We're-- to--... mer--room."

_The emergency room._ Diane doesn't need to hear any more clearly to know her worst fears are coming true. She runs like a shot out of the bedroom at that, the phone still pressed to her ear. She tears from room to room looking for her keys and her bag, of course at a moment like this unable to find either in any place she would normally leave them.

"What happened? Is he okay?" She could practically scream as soon as she hears such a stupid question come out of her mouth. Of course he isn't okay.

"I don't-- looked-- fall down."

She stops in her tracks, tears flooding to her eyes. "Is it his heart? Bob, did he have another heart attack?"

Garbled nonsense is his only reply.

"Bob, I can't hear anything, but please tell him I'm on my way. And please--" Her voice catches; she has to stop and breathe before an audible sob escapes her throat. She disconnects the call, putting her attention to better use resuming the search for her keys. Bob probably can't hear her anyway, and he certainly cannot answer her prayer even if he can.

_Please let him be all right._

*******

After ten years, Diane knows this route without thinking, and it is a lucky thing for all the good her faculties are doing her now. Her eyes are brimming over with tears and her brain has no capacity for conscious thought beyond various images of Kurt: Kurt in trouble, in pain, in danger for his life.

She turns what few words she could make sense of from Bob over and over in her mind, inventing from the missing ones dire scenarios, each one worse than the last. She tries to reason with herself that all she know for certain is that Bob saw him fall down. But those words, that image, offers him no reassurance. He _fell down_. He collapsed. He was on the ground, helpless.

She tries to take some comfort in the fact that whatever happened, he was at least conscious and aware enough to ask Bob to call her. And perhaps well enough to allow Bob to drive him rather than call for an ambulance -- although that could signal nothing more than his incurable stubbornness, so maddening at the best of times, self-destructive at the worst.

There is no way she can know, she repeats over and over to herself like a mantra, as if not knowing was any easier to face than certain fear. She cannot know, she repeats anyhow, she just needs to get there before --

_Before --_

As dark as her mind is growing, that is one thought she cannot see through to its natural end. Not without her eyes welling up until she can see nothing at all, pushing it away by sheer force of will with the admonition that she will do neither of them any good if she winds up in a ditch along the side of the road.

She forces the thought away, making room for a parade of others, no more helpful, no easier to finish.

The last time this happened he was alone, she can't let him think he's alone if --

Their last conversation was so tense and distracted, that can't be the last time they --

They had just found one another again, she couldn't bear to --

In all of their long talks, she hasn't told him half of what she needs him to know, not half of what he means to her. In all their time together, they haven't shared half of what she would like to. That can't be all there is. They had only just begun to figure it out, to finally, finally make it work between them. They were just about to make a start -- this can't be the end. They only needed more time. She can't --

She can't...

_She can't lose him now._


	45. Chapter 45

"Excuse me--" Diane rushes to the nurse's station, only to find the one lone night nurse on the phone. She looks up and smiles at Diane kindly, raising a single finger in a request that she wait just one moment. But Diane cannot spare even one more. "I'm sorry, I just need--"

The nurse shakes her head and swivels in her chair, effectively blocking Diane from her view. With a great huff of exasperation, Diane looks around for someone else to help her, and failing that, takes off again down the hall. She will look in every room for him if she has to, she won't stop until she sees for herself that he --

"Ma'am, ma'am, please come back here," the nurse calls out, beckoning her back, the phone cradled against her neck. "I can't have you roaming around Critical Care at this time of night."

Diane strides right back, struggling to keep her building temper in check. "Kurt McVeigh. What room is he in?"

The nurse looks at her doubtfully, then down at a clipboard on her desk.

"M-C-V-E-I-G-H," Diane spells out. "I've been running all over this hospital. They said they transferred him from the ER to a room for observation. They sent me to the third floor, and then they sent me here. Please--"

Her voice breaks on the word again, and she feels truly at her breaking point.

"And who are you, ma'am?"

"I'm--" she shakes her head, sputtering, the usual inability to name their situation compounded by fear and exhaustion. "Oh, what the hell does it matter?"

"It's after ten o'clock in the ICU, ma'am, so unless you're next of kin I really can't allow you to--"

"Yes, I'm his wife," Diane says fiercely before she can finish her sentence. It is a harmless lie and a means to an end. But in that moment, no other fact of her existence could feel more true. It was true, it would be true, if only they had the time...

"All right," the nurse says slowly, looking her up and down as if she were some sort of human lie detector, her gaze falling finally on Diane's hands gripping the counter. She points in the opposite direction from where Diane had begun to go. "Room 813."

"Thank you," Diane says hastily, already running down the hall as quickly as she can in her impractical three-inch heels. She'll have blisters in the morning, some absurd voice in the back of her head observes. If that were the least of their collective damage from tonight, she would welcome it.

She is out of breath when she reaches his room but tries to compose herself, for his benefit if he is even conscious, and for her own to take in stride whatever she finds. She allows herself just a moment -- and then enters.

"Hey, beautiful."

His tone is playful as his eyes lock on hers, his smile tired and perhaps drugged, but it is a smile that greets her nonetheless, that lopsided smile he always finds for her. Several pads are attached to his chest and she could almost cry again to see it, but it is only the imagination of something much worse that triggers her reaction. All of her worst fears are dispelled by the reality before her -- the monitor he is attached to chirps with what appear to be regular and steady rhythms, he is propped up on pillows and looking relatively alert.

"Kurt, oh my god--" she moves quickly to his side, reaching out to take one hand in both of hers, reassuring herself as much as him with the solid reality and warmth of touch. "What on earth happened? Oh--"

She fully sees, for the first time now that she is standing closer, bruises and stitched up cuts on one side of his face, notices his arm in a sling. She reaches up a hand, tracing the path of the stitches in the air just short of contact, fearful of hurting him.

"Yeah, I beat myself up pretty badly," he says sheepishly. "I tried to call you once they moved me to this room -- why didn't you answer your cell?"

"Oh, Eli..." she rolls her eyes. "He called me a dozen times and I couldn't deal with him so I shut it off. I wasn't thinking, obviously. Oh, you had me worried out of my mind."

"Sorry about that. Yeah, Bob said he didn't think you could understand him."

"So what did happen? Are you all right?"

"It wasn't my heart," he says quickly, knowing that is the first thing he needs to assure her of. "Just my idiot brain. I was up on the ladder clearing out the gutters, thinking I could reach to the end of the eave without getting down and moving it. Well, I couldn't."

"You stubborn fool," she says, shaking her head with equal exasperation and affection.

"Yep. And I fell. Broken arm, concussion. Hurt my pride more than anything, I think."

"And Bob saw you? Oh, thank god he did."

"Keep that in mind about that secluded cabin you're so in love with," he laughs lightly. "Not sure anyone's going to be around to help me next time."

It's so good to hear him laugh, and about that more than anything. "There won't be a next time because you're going to be more careful, aren't you? You'll work under my direct supervision if it comes to it."

"You know I never mind when you watch," he says, his lips twisting into a smirk.

"Neither do I," she says, her voice dropping low in response. A moment later she turns her attention to the monitors, serious again. "Do you need to be in the ICU? Are they checking for something?"

"They had trouble finding me a room, so they put me here," he laughs, shaking his head. "They just want to keep an eye on me because of the concussion and my history, but I should be free to go tomorrow."

She laughs too, feeling almost delirious in her relief. "I was so worried, Kurt. You have no idea. I thought -- oh, god, what if I lost you?"

Just as quickly, her laughter turns to tears, her body giving in to the heightened stress it had been operating under for the past couple hours.

"Hey, hey, I'm not going anywhere. I thought I proved to you what good shape I'm in -- my diet, my jogging, other things..." He raises his eyebrows meaningfully, trying to keep the mood light.

She smiles, wiping away the tears she wishes she could shut off. "I know, it wasn't rational. It's just..." She trails off, her eyes searching his. "That's my worst fear. Losing you."

She can see, as her words register, that he understands and accepts them. And he will not argue with them. "I guess that's my worst fear, too. We've lived that nightmare."

"Yeah," she says quietly, looking down at their hands entwined.

"But you're not gonna lose me again. Not for a very long time."

_Time_ , she thinks, smiling. They still have time.

He squeezes her hand, she thinks to recall her attention back to him, but when she looks up at him again his gaze is now distracted.

"What's this?" he asks, smirking, looking from her hand back to her eyes.

She wrinkles her brow in confusion, seeing nothing amiss. Then all of a sudden she realizes and feels her face grow instantly hot.  _ The ring. _

"Oh, I -- I happened to notice it when I was getting ready -- then Bob called--"

"You happened to notice it right onto your finger?" he teases her, grinning. "Looks good on you."

"Feels good on, too," she ventures, grinning right back. Her stomach turns somersaults, suddenly nervous again but for entirely different reasons.

"Yeah? I wasn't sure if you'd feel that way."

Her heart is racing now, but she wants to be sure she is answering the precise question she is being asked. While making it perfectly plain to him that she is open to entertaining any others he might feel inclined to pose. "Well, I do."

"Well, good."

"Good?" she laughs, teasing him, amused at the simple pronouncement, practically giddy at the sight of him bruised but so full of life, still with her now and for all their days to come. She leans forward, brushing her lips lightly against his. "Does that hurt?"

"Wouldn't tell you to stop if it did," he mumbles, pressing back harder. He draws her lower lip into his mouth, running the tip of his tongue slowly from one side to the other. She squeezes his hand harder, fighting to resist the urge to take his bruised face in both her hands and crush her mouth against his.

A quick rap at the door, the sound of a throat clearing, and a pointed "Ma'am?" bring Diane abruptly back to her senses. She pulls back, no less annoyed even now that she has assured herself he is very much all right. Keeping her frustration in check with some difficulty, she turns her attention to the nurse in the doorway.

"Married or not, I need to ask you to let the patient rest now. You can come back in the morning, most likely we'll be able to discharge him then."

She turns on her heel and leaves as quickly as she came, taking for granted Diane will obey her orders. Diane, for her part, stiffens and feels her face reddening again. Kurt merely raises an eyebrow and smiles, letting it go at that.

"I'll sleep at the farm, and I can be back here first thing," Diane says, hating to leave him at all.

"All right. Sorry to ruin your night -- and you look so beautiful, too," he says, his eyes full of so much undisguised adoration she believes it.

"I look a fright," she protests anyway, knowing even at her worst he'd never see it. "It's all right. I chose this dress mostly for your benefit, anyway."

"I appreciate that," he grins, his gaze wandering down her body and making it clear none of the effect is lost on him. "You in trouble with Eli?"

"Probably. But if he wasn't worked up about this he'd find something else," she shrugs. "Please don't worry about that. It's the last thing on my mind."

"As long as you don't worry about me, it's a deal."

"All right," she smiles wryly, her face gradually falling as she faces the prospect of leaving him. "God, I just want to crawl into that bed beside you and never let you go."

"Soon," he says softly. "And for the rest of our lives."

She beams back at him, giving his hand one last squeeze before she rises to leave. She will take that as a promise.


	46. Chapter 46

“Dear? Are you in here?” Diane pokes her head through the door of the office in the small outbuilding Kurt had, at one time, used for the business end of his ballistics company. As far as she knows he hasn’t used it for much of anything lately, and a quick glance around seems to confirm that supposition. All of the standard paraphernalia of a working office, all of the decorative items she remembers being on display are gone. All that remains is the furniture, unadorned and covered with a thin layer of dust.

She walks in anyway, letting the screen door bang shut behind her and crosses the room and peers up the curving staircase that leads to the second floor storage area. “Kurt?”

Silence. She walks back around to the other side of the desk, fingers tapping against the back of the chair. Where had he gone?

It’s the oddest thing. They had been having breakfast in the kitchen when her phone rang. Of course it had been Eli with last-minute marching orders, so she walked into the living room to talk to him to avoid disturbing Kurt as he read the newspaper, gingerly alternating page turns with gulps of coffee, using his one good arm.

When she returned fifteen minutes later, he was gone, no longer in the house, vanished without a trace. Normally she wouldn’t think anything of it, but they have to get going if she’s going to make it to her morning meeting. He knows that, they had discussed schedules, but now he’s suddenly nowhere to be seen.

Giving up on finding him in the empty office, she swears under her breath, then starts to leave. She reaches for the screen just as it squeals open and the man himself enters, his phone held loosely in the hand of his casted arm as he pushes through the door with the other.

He stops short when he sees her, eyes widening in surprise. “Diane. What are you doing in here?”

Her eyebrows fly up at his accusatory tone. “Looking for you,” she blurts, startled into defensiveness, as though she had been caught doing something wrong. “You were gone when I got off the phone. I was getting worried.”

He seems to relax at her answer, some of the stiffness leaving his shoulders and his lips quirking into his familiar lopsided smile. Crossing the room, he wraps his good arm around her waist. “Just went for a little walk while you were finishing up your call. I saw you come in here from across the yard. Ready to head out? Or do we have a little time?” He leans in for a quick kiss, and then another and another, until she tires of his teasing and deepens it herself, her hand rising to cup his cheek, all annoyance forgotten. They have a little time.

It isn’t until later, when they’re halfway to the city that it occurs to her he had been too surprised to see her to have already known she was there.

He lied to her.

***

The restaurant is loud and boisterous and, like most of those near the courthouse, inhabited almost entirely by lawyers either riding the raucous high of the winner or indulging in the self-righteous anger of the loser. It’s one or the other; those with cases still undecided don’t have time for lunch in a place like this. Instead they’ll glance at the sandwich by their elbow that they don’t have time to eat as they use their lunch recess for last-minute research. Part of her misses it, honestly. All of it. But today her mind is elsewhere.

“Something’s going on,” she tells Laura, taking a sip of her wine. “Kurt is acting very strangely.”

She has been unable to stop thinking about it since her revelation about his lie in the car. For the rest of the drive and all through her meeting with Eli and his team, she reviewed the last few days over and over in her mind. When she thought it through, she realized this morning wasn’t the first time he’d been unexpectedly unaccounted for. More than once in the last few days, she’d gotten up to take a call or go to the bathroom, and he’d been absent when she returned. Oh, never for long, and never without a reasonable, casually offered excuse, but now, she wonders if those were lies as well.

Laura looks aghast. “You mean…you don’t think he’s….”

It takes Diane a minute to catch up to her goddaughter’s thought process. “What? Oh god, no. Not that. He’s not cheating on me, Laura. This is something else.”

Maybe she’s worrying over nothing, but the more she thinks about it, the more nervous it makes her. What if he’s still dealing with the effects of his fall – pain, dizziness, or nausea, and doesn’t want to worry her? Perhaps she should insist he see a doctor. Or worse -- what if he’s having chest pains?

“Something else?” Laura echoes. “You’re not concerned?”

“Well of course I’m concerned; that’s why I mentioned it. But whatever it is, it isn’t that.” She shakes her head firmly, and stabs a piece of chicken in her salad.

“If you’re sure.” But Laura still looks doubtful, and honestly, Diane can hardly blame her. She knows how naïve she sounds and she’d probably be thinking the same thing if their roles were reversed. But that’s _not_ it. She would know if it was, just like she knew on some level the last time. This is different, because _they_ are different. Whatever he’s up to isn’t relationship-threatening. She just hopes it isn’t life-threatening either.

“Anyway,” she says when she finishes chewing, purposefully changing the subject, “that’s not why you invited me out for lunch. What’s up?”

“I can’t believe you haven’t noticed already,” Laura says, laughing, clearly as ready as Diane to move on to another topic. “Whatever is going on with you has put you off your game.”

Diane tilts her head, eyes narrowing as she examines her fidgety lunch partner. Finally, she lands on the younger woman’s left hand, wrapped conspicuously around the stem of her wine glass. A large diamond ring sparkles on her ring finger.

“Laura!” she exclaims. “Is that what I think it is?”

Laura beams at her from across the table. “Well if you think it’s an engagement ring, then it is, yes.” She lets go of her glass and waves her hand excitedly.

Standing, she pulls the other woman to her feet and envelops her in a hug. “Oh Laura, congratulations! I’m so happy for you. Kevin seems like such a good man.”

“He is, he really is.” Laura squeezes her hard in return.

“So, do you think you’ll ever do it again?” Laura asks after they’ve retaken their seats. “Get married, I mean?”

If Diane had been asked that question prior to the night of Kurt’s accident, she would have waved it off, would have been disinclined to discuss such a personal topic with anyone but Kurt until the subject had at least been broached between the two of them. And she had been perfectly content to wait for him to broach it.

But then he had. Obliquely, yes, but she thought they had come to an understanding that night, an agreement that yes, they were heading toward remarriage, and sooner rather than later. It was what they both wanted.

She finds herself mildly confused that it hasn’t come up again since. To be fair, she hasn’t brought it up either, though she thought to perhaps steer the conversation that way with talk of their upcoming housing needs and the fact that the perfect house wouldn’t be on the market forever. He had quickly but decisively changed the subject every time she tried. She can’t help but wonder now if it has anything to do with Kurt’s disappearing acts. Is whatever he’s hiding making him question their future plans?

"I don't know," she says softly, forcing a weak smile. "I guess we'll see."

She changes the subject quickly, asking for more details about Laura's engagement -- how he asked, if they've set a date -- and grudgingly Laura follows her lead. Laura is still curious and concerned, and Diane can see the wheels turning in her head, but she can sense that Diane isn't in the mood to answer any more questions on the subject just now. She doesn't have the answers even if she wanted to share them, and after all how can she? She has not asked the questions herself.

***

Diane leaves her lunch with Laura feeling renewed. She always does feel buoyed by the younger woman's relentlessly high spirits, but this time it's something more than that. She is happy for Laura, truly, but it comes with the sting of not knowing where her own relationship is heading. But rather than continuing to wait and wonder, she finds herself resolved to force the issue once and for all.

She hails a cab and gives her address, knowing she will find him at home. He had planned to spend the afternoon grading exams until he would meet her after an event in the afternoon, which under the circumstances she has decided to forego. She is already in Eli’s bad books, but this rally is for the common voter and not his precious big-ticket donors. Besides, nothing was likely to be won or lost in the last day. Suddenly this feels like an infinitely more important choice in assuring the future she wants, and she doesn't want to wait an hour more.

As the cab pulls into traffic she takes her cell phone from her purse, scrolling through her contacts. As long as she's at it, there are other parts of that future she isn’t going to wait for any longer, either.

The phone rings twice and then a younger woman's voice responds, "Rebecca Shaw, Hunter Realty, how may I help you?"

"Rebecca, hi, this is Diane Lockhart. You showed me and my--" she hesitates for just a second, grimacing, "Kurt McVeigh a few places in and outside Springfield a couple weeks ago."

"Oh, of course, I remember you!" She sounds surprised, as if she never expected to hear from her again. “How can I help?"

"Well, about that last place you showed us, the lovely cabin on Lander Road? I wanted to check if it was still on the market. We're very interested."

"Oh! Can you hold for just a minute? I'll --" Faintly, Diane can hear a voice in the background; Rebecca must be in the middle of a showing. But she sounds more flustered by managing two things at once than Diane would have imagined from her. "Ah -- let me check."

The other end of the line is muted, and several minutes pass before Rebecca returns.

"Ms Lockhart?"

"Yes?"

"I'm very sorry, I have to tell you it was just sold. The seller did accept an offer."

"Oh," Diane says, feeling sick with disappointment. "Of course, it was such a wonderful place, I'm not surprised it sold quickly."

"That does happen sometimes, unfortunately."

"Won't you tell us if the deal falls through? I'd like to be the first to know," Diane says, knowing she's grasping at straws now.

"Certainly, but I don't think it will," Rebecca responds gently. "Why don't you give me a call in a week or two, once you've had a chance to talk it over with Kurt. Now that I know exactly what you two are looking for, I'm sure I can find you the perfect place."

"Yes, I'm sure we will. Thank you."

Diane ends the call, devastated by the loss, even though she knew it was a real possibility. There will be other places, she reminds herself, equally nice, possibly better. Hell, if it came down to it, they could find a well-situated property and build the home of their dreams. But it was more than just a nice house; it was a _feeling_. As silly as it sounds even in her own mind, she knows it was real. And she knows he felt it, too. Until all at once he didn't.

Still, of all things, where and how they live is not the most pressing question weighing on her mind. But it was, she thought, the far easier one to settle than all of the ones she would have to carefully draw out of her silently stoic Kurt McVeigh.

*******

"Kurt?" Diane calls out, already exhausted, letting her purse fall carelessly to the floor.

She goes directly to the dining room, where he usually works if he is over at her place, but she does not find him there.

"Are you here?" she calls again, wandering from room to room, but she is met with silence. She does not find him in the kitchen, or the living room, or her office, or her bedroom. Nor is there any note.

He probably went out to run some errand, she reasons, trying to silence the less-helpful thoughts creeping around the edges of her mind. He didn't expect her home until much later, so why would he leave a note? They try to coordinate schedules, but neither of them is accountable to the other for every moment of their time. Certainly, after all they've been through, she doesn't want to make him feel as if he must always explain his whereabouts, and she doesn't want to always wonder what those are, either.

But he has been running a lot of odd errands lately, the creeping thoughts counter.

Exasperated with herself more than anything, she goes back for her purse to retrieve her cell phone. She isn't going to wonder anymore, not about any of it. She will simply ask.

She texts him:

_Hey, came home early, thought we might ignore our responsibilities for the rest of the day. Where are you?_

She feels better just having asked, and it is only a few minutes before his reply comes.

_I'd like that, but had to go in to school. Be back around 5. I'll bring dinner. Love ya_

She closes her eyes, taking in and slowly letting out a deep breath. She feels physically ill for even suspecting it, not sure which would be worse: that he is lying to her again, or that she cannot seem to stop wondering if he is lying when he is perfectly innocent.

Either way, she thought they had come so much further than this.

***

As promised, Kurt arrives home shortly after five o’clock. Diane looks up from her book at the sound of the opening door to find him struggling to hold it ajar with the elbow of his injured arm while carrying several white paper bags of takeout in his one good hand. A bottle of wine is wedged precariously against his side.

She jumps up immediately and rushes across the room to relieve him of his burdens. “Good grief, dear. Why didn’t you leave some of this in the car? I could have run out to get the rest.”

He shoots her an incredulous look at what she has to admit was a rather unlikely suggestion, then leans over to peck her on the lips. “Sorry I couldn’t get home sooner,” he says, taking the bottle of wine back from her and then leading the way to the kitchen. “I thought you’d be at that rally all afternoon. I was just about to text you I wasn’t going to make it there when I got your message.”

She waves off his apology, not wanting to explain how she came to have a free afternoon just yet. They should eat first, relax with some of that wine, and then when she has a better feel for the mood of the evening, she’ll decide how to approach the discussion about their future.

She smiles to herself, amused by her own newfound patience. At least she’s not just blurting out a proposal this time. That’s an improvement.

Kurt has pulled the corkscrew from its drawer and is holding it in his one functional hand, head tilted in consternation as he regards the wine bottle sitting on the counter in front of him. “You’re going to have to do this,” he admits a moment later, looking over in time to catch her smiling. “What?” he asks.

She makes no attempt to straighten her face. “Oh, nothing. Just happy.” And she is happy. No matter how this conversation ends up, whether remarriage is actually on the table or not, no matter what it is that’s been troubling him, what he thinks he needs to keep from her, she knows they can withstand it. They’ve been through the worst already and survived.

She walks over and takes the corkscrew from his hand and sets in on the counter, then slides her arms around his waist, taking care not to jostle his arm.

“That so?” he asks, returning her embrace as best he can with one arm, then tipping his head back to look at her directly.

“That is so,” she confirms, nestling closer, her eyes never leaving his. If he has any deep, dark secret, she can find no trace of it in his warm brown eyes, no sign of any guilt, or any hesitation as they drift closed in anticipation of the kiss he knows is coming. He allows her to back him up against the counter, his hand sliding up and down over her backside, his injured arm trapped between them.  

She closes her own eyes in the instant just before their lips touch, a soft sigh coming from deep in her throat as she forgets about everything but the way his lips feel against hers.

Several minutes pass before she reluctantly pulls back. “The food is going to get cold,” she says, the words sounding far more breathless than she intended.

“Uh huh,” he says, leaning back in, but it’s too late; she’s already made her escape. As much as she’d like to forget about everything but satisfying their desires, she needs to talk to him first.

Sidestepping his grasp, she reaches for the takeout bags and moves them to another counter, then doubles back to uncork the wine for him and pour two glasses. “Go,” she says, handing him one. “Sit down. I’ll take it from here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, wisely not lingering to supervise her serving skills.

She carries two plates to the dinner table, then returns for bread and silverware, and then one more time for her wine, before she finally takes her seat beside him.

They eat in silence for several minutes as Diane ponders where to begin. The last thing she wants to do is make him feel like she doesn’t trust him, not now after so much work to convince him she can, and should, and _does_ . Rather, she wants to reiterate that _he_ can trust _her_ ; that he can talk to her about whatever he’s thinking, regardless of whether he thinks she’ll like it. She understands that sometimes he may need time to think things through, but at least tell her _that_ , instead of leaving her to wonder and worry.

“What?” he asks, and only then does she realize she’s been staring, her fork stalled halfway to her mouth as she considers her options. “Do I have something on my face?”

She laughs, shakes her head. “No, no, sorry. I was wool-gathering.” Then with a deep inhalation, she takes the opening. “But actually, I do have something I need to tell you. I got some bad news today. Or, at least, _I_ think it’s bad.”

She’s dangerously close to rambling, and forces herself to stop, to let him ask the obvious question.

“Bad news?” he repeats, sounding remarkably nonchalant, though that, at least, is nothing out of the ordinary. “What is it?”

“I called Rebecca today. The realtor who showed us that house last week,” she elaborates at his blank look. “I just wanted to see if it was still on the market.”

Kurt swallows a bite of his dinner, then takes a drink from his wine glass before responding. “Oh. Well, is it?”

She shakes her head. “No. It’s been sold.”

Setting his glass down, he reaches out to squeeze her hand briefly before picking up his fork again. “I’m sorry, hon. I know you liked that house. But there’ll be other ones.”

“Yeah.” She toys with a piece of broccoli, turning it around and around with her fork, but she doesn’t take her eyes off Kurt as she speaks. “You don’t seem very bothered. I thought you liked it, too.”

He shrugs unconcernedly. “I liked it well enough. I thought it was a bit too isolated; you know that. But in the end, it was just a house, Diane. We’ll find another one, and wherever it is, whatever it looks like – as long as you’re in it, it’ll be home.”

Her eyes sting at his words and she blinks hard to keep from tearing up. If she ever had any doubt at all about his love for her, the quiet confidence of that statement would heal them. But still she has to ask. “Kurt, I…Is everything okay?”

He sets down his fork, then turns in his chair to face her straight on. “Everything is fine,” he says firmly, his eyes locking onto hers.

She opens her mouth to clarify her question, to mention his mysterious absences, to ask after his health, his happiness, his seeming indifference to the question of marriage, but he silences her with a quick shake of his head.

“Do you trust me, Diane?” he asks.

“Yes.” She answers immediately and without doubt.

“Good. So trust me.” He raises his eyebrows for emphasis, then turns back to his food.

_Trust him_. She can do that. She smiles to herself as picks up her own fork.

Suddenly, she’s starving.

  



	47. Chapter 47

Later, she clears the dishes and he settles on the couch with the television remote in hand and a second glass of wine on the end table beside him. Walking past, she confiscates the wine for herself and replaces it with an open bottle of beer.

“Thanks,” he says, flicking through channels until he lands on the local news.

She continues her walk around the room, closing the blinds to hide them from the darkening street before finally taking a seat beside him. He immediately leans forward to set his beer on the coffee table and wraps his good arm around her shoulders, pulling her close and kissing her temple through her side-swept bangs.

“Hello,” she says, snuggling under his arm.

“Hey,” he replies, kissing his way down to her lips, then groaning as he has to remove his arm from around her in order to reach for his beer again. “This is irritating,” he complains, slumping back against the couch again and taking a swallow.

On the television, the reporter is discussing tomorrow’s election. She should listen; there could be a quiz later from Eli, who is quickly losing patience with her waning interest in the minutia of campaigning. The story cuts to a Republican candidate for the State Senate, gesticulating wildly and turning red in the face as he talks about corporate tax cuts and attracting business to the great state of Illinois.

“You’re going to vote for that blowhard, aren’t you?” she asks mildly, unable to summon much interest in debating him tonight.

“Probably,” he says after another swallow of beer.

“You’re going to vote for me too though, right?”

“Yep.”

The news isn’t holding her attention and her mind drifts, wandering back to that morning, to their odd encounter in Kurt’s old office. In her mind’s eye she sees him awkwardly pushing through the screen door, his phone held precariously in his casted hand. She sees herself standing behind his desk chair, the desk coated with dust from disuse. But the chair…the seat of the chair had been clean. After puzzling silently for another minute she straightens up turns in place to face him.

“Kurt?”

Something in her voice must be giving away her intention to quiz him further, because he laughs and shakes his head in instant understanding. Leaning forward, he sets his half-empty bottle on the table, then rests his good hand against her hip, just a hint of a smile crooking one side of his mouth.

“Diane,” he says, leaning in until his lips are just a fraction of an inch from hers. “Trust me.” He closes the remaining distance before she has time to answer, kissing her soundly.

And so she does, reassuring the annoyingly, overly analytical regions of her brain that she doesn’t have to know everything, and that sometimes, like now, it’s okay to just run on faith.

They kiss for a while, their hands wandering as desire builds, but the awkwardness of his broken arm between them continues to be a frustration.

They haven’t made love since Kurt’s accident - the combination of pain, drugs, and the nuisance of his cast making it a near impossibility, but now when she pulls back and sees the desire in his hooded eyes, she pauses to consider their options. As disinclined as she is to change location at present, the couch is too narrow to keep his arm safe. "Follow me," she commands, standing and pulling on his good hand.

"Where are we going?" he jokes, but she ignores him, towing him down the hall to the bedroom.

Once there, she stands in front of him, her hands rising to cup his face, fingers gently running over the black stitches in his cheek. The skin under them is still puffy and red, but the wound itself has closed and the scrapes and bruises that came along with it are starting to fade.

When he leans forward to kiss her, she pulls her head away, then slides her hands around to the back of his neck, separating the velcro closure of his sling and sliding the straps down his chest. Finally, she carefully removes his arm from its padded nylon protection.

“Okay?” she asks lightly, continuing to support his arms in the same position as had the sling.

He doesn’t answer with words, just leans forward and finally captures her lips with a searing kiss, leaving no doubt that he is more than okay with her actions thus far. Breaking the kiss after a moment, she reaches for the top button of his plaid cotton dress shirt. He’s gone without his blazer for work all this week; it’s too much trouble to get on over his cast, but button-up shirts with one cuff left undone have worked quite well. Now, Diane pulls the shirt from the front of his jeans to undo the final buttons, then parts the two sides, baring his chest and stomach.

Walking around behind him, she pulls the shirt from the back of his jeans, pausing to admire his ass as she does, then slides it slowly down his shoulders, her fingers trailing behind, following along the same path as the cotton. She removes his good arm from its sleeve first, then after leaning in to taste the skin on the back of his shoulder, circles around to the other side to gingerly pull the second sleeve down over his cast.

He’s complained very little over the last few days, but she knows he must still be in a considerable amount of pain. Between the broken arm, the concussion, various scrapes and the huge bruise on his side from where his arm was crushed between his body and the ground… When she saw the ladder, still tipped over on its side on the grass in front of the house, only then had she understood how lucky he was that his injuries were relatively minor. If he had hit the ground the wrong way, he… Well, she’s not going to think about that now. With the amount of pain he’s surely still in, she’s amazed he’s even interested in this, here, now, but she’s going to do her best to make it as pleasurable and as pain-free as possible for him.

Having freed his cast from his sleeve, she drops the shirt on the floor and backs him up until his legs hit the bed. “Lie down,” she directs. As usual, he looks amused by her bossiness, but complies without comment, sitting down, then swinging his legs up and carefully manoeuvering until he’s lying with his head on a pillow in roughly the centre of the bed, his injured arm stretching out beside him and angled away from his body.

Satisfied with his positioning, she walks over to stand by the bed where he can easily see her in the semi-darkness of the room. Slowly, she begins unbuttoning her blouse. His mouth falls open at about the same time as the blouse parts to reveal her blue lace bra. She smiles at the look of desire on his face. No matter how long, no matter how many times they’ve been together, he never seems to tire of watching her like this. She understands; she never tires of watching him either.

Letting the blouse slither to the floor, she reaches behind herself to unzip her skirt, then lets it fall as well. Stepping out of it, she now stands before him clad only in her bra and matching blue lace panties.

Kurt swears, and she knows it has nothing to do with the pain in his arm. “Come here,” he demands, holding out his good hand.

She is only too happy to comply, kneeling on the edge of the bed, then crawling up to straddle his thighs, landing just slightly below where he wants her. His arm comes around her hips as he tries to pull her closer, but she resists, reaching behind her to remove his hand and bringing it up along with her as she leans forward. She rests his arm against the mattress by his head, applying just enough pressure to clearly deliver her message.  _ No touching_. Not yet.

Releasing his arm, she presses her lips to hers, toying with him first with little pecks and nibbles, then kissing him fully, parting his lips with her tongue and delving inside. At the same time, she lowers her upper body to press her lace-covered breasts against his bare chest.

Reflexively, he responds by pushing upward with his hips and she can feel the hard length of him against her stomach.

With a wordless reprimand, she straightens up and falls back on her heels, just out of his range. He groans in protest, but she ignores him, instead shuffling backwards down his legs. Leaning over again, she kisses his stomach, lightly and just once, before reaching for his belt.

She holds his gaze steadily as she works his buckle, the air between them hazy-hot with tension. She loves the way his eyes change when he wants her – hooded and intense, so dark they’re almost black. She licks her lips and watches them widen when he gets her meaning.

Moving off his legs, she works his jeans down his legs and off, taking his socks with them but leaving his boxers. Tossing the clothing aside, she returns to her previous position.

“What am I going to do with you?” she muses aloud, letting her fingers fall against his stomach and stroking almost absentmindedly. She knows full well what she’s going to do, as does he, but she knows he enjoys it more when she makes a production out of it. A little playacting, a little stretching and bending: it excites him, and truth be told, it excites her too, watching him watch her.

“I can think of a few things,” he volunteers gruffly, hips shifting, trying to initiate contact.

She laughs lightly, then leans forward. “I’ll bet you can,” she agrees just before she kisses him. They kiss deeply for long moments as she gives his one available hand temporary free reign to touch wherever he wants. He starts with her ass, slipping under her panties and squeezing firmly. He then moves up to cup her breast, teasing her nipple through the lace of her bra, before circling back and trying to unhook it.

She breaks their kiss and moves back out of reach. “What do you think you’re doing?” she scolds, but teasingly.

“Off,” he demands, bossy but he grinning as he says it, and really, she’s happy to comply. She just wants to watch him as she does. She may not have the figure she once had; gravity and the simple passage of time have taken their toll, but whenever she sees herself through his eyes, she feels beautiful. Sexy. Better than she ever did at half her age.

Reaching behind her back with both arms, she exaggerates the thrust of her chest as she undoes the clasp of her bra, then leans slightly forward to let the straps fall from her arms. He helps it the rest of the way off then takes her hand and pulls her forward, his eyes never leaving his prize. She goes willingly, leaning forward as he takes one nipple between his lips, swirling his tongue around it until it hardens. She moans low in her throat.

He moves to the other side and repeats the action, his hand taking the place of his mouth with the first, kneading, then lightly pinching. Unable to stay still, she slides back and forth rhythmically over his cock, separated from it by only two thin layers of cloth.

He releases her breast to swear colorfully as he presses up against her. She takes the opportunity to move back out of reach, fingers trailing apologetically down his chest as she goes, away from his tempting mouth before she loses herself and forgets all about her plans for him.

Once she’s found relative safety, she leans forward again and kisses her way down his chest, mimicking his ministrations to her nipples on his own, then continuing down along his stomach to the bulging waistband of his boxers. Still touching with only her mouth, she kisses his length through the cotton, then exhales a warm open-mouthed breath along him. He squirms in pleasure and when she glances up, his eyes are still on her, his uninjured arm stretched out and clenching the comforter near the edge of the bed.

She reaches into the opening of his shorts and carefully pulls him through, stroking once, twice, up and down his full length, testing his reaction. He hisses, his fingers tightening against the bedding, but his eyes stay open. She still has time to play.

Bending forward again, careful not to block his view, she kisses the very tip of his cock, then swirls her tongue around the head a couple of times before backing off again. Taking him in hand, she leans over until her breasts brush against him. At the head of the bed, he moans at the sight. She plays with him for a few moments, rubbing him against her still-erect nipples, letting him enjoy the view, before reaching for the waistband of his boxers.

“You too,” he growls after she drops them to the floor. Smirking, she complies, standing up and shimmying out of her panties.

That accomplished she returns to her mission, sitting on the bed level with his hips, then falling across him to lean on her forearm on the other side of the bed. Stroking his cock with her free hand, she lowers her mouth to him, licking and sucking, tailoring her technique to what she knows he likes and to his reactions now.

“Touch yourself,” he directs from above, his voice breathless and already on edge. She obeys, releasing his cock and sliding her hand between slightly parted legs. She doesn’t expect to accomplish much with her attention so divided, but her practiced fingers quickly find a pleasing rhythm and she knows he likes to watch her like this. There’s no hurry; he’ll make sure she’s satisfied before the night is over.

Lifting her eyes to check his reaction, she finds his gaze wandering between her fingers and her mouth, his eyes just barely open. Catching her looking, he smiles. “I love you,” he tells her before his eyes fall completely closed.

She returns to her task, humming in the back of her throat as she sucks, and that’s the final push that throws him over the edge. A guttural groan follows a curse as his hips fly upward and he releases into her mouth. She moves her hand back to him, pumping lightly until he’s spent.

“Come here,” he says when he can speak again, patting the spot on the bed beside him.

Grinning, she accepts his invitation, crawling up the bed to cuddle against his side, her head on his shoulder, his arm curling around her back to hold her tightly to him. His breathing is still a little rough and it pleases her to know she is the cause.

As she waits for him to recover, her mind returns to her earlier concerns about his recent secrecy. She was being foolish, she knows that now. Being in love with someone, committed to someone, doesn’t remove a person’s right to privacy. He doesn’t have to share his every thought with her. Nor does she with him, but maybe this is one she wants to share.

"I need to tell you something," she says finally, inclining her head toward him from where she lay snuggled against his shoulder. A moment later, resolved, she pulls herself semi-upright, propping herself up on her elbow. She gathers the sheet up around them, taking her time as if all must wait until it is arranged just so.

"Okay," he prompts her gently, and when she turns to face him the hint of a bemused smile greets her. He is silently laughing at her fidgeting and her hesitation, and in his eyes there is patience and adoration as well as mirth, but not a trace of concern. It hits her all at once, that tidal wave of an emotion that never fails to knock her sideways not because it is rare, or unexpected, because she is never quite prepared for the sheer force of its intensity.  _ God does she love him. _

"I was worried this afternoon," she says, her voice unexpectedly hoarse, whether in emotion or the sudden nakedness of her confession, she isn't sure.

His smile deepens ever so slightly. "I know."

She can't help but grin back in response. "And here I thought I'd covered it so well."

"You did. And after a while, I don't think you were worried anymore. Certainly by the time you threw me on this bed and had your way with me..."

"I didn't throw you!" she cries, laughing.

"Still," he shrugs, lifting his head up slightly to ask for, and then take, a little kiss. "But I  _ know _ you, Diane. I know when something's on your mind."

"I wasn't worried anymore the moment I saw you," she says fiercely, her eyes bright with the threat of tears she had not anticipated. "My imagination ran away with me this afternoon, when I was alone with my thoughts. But I  _ know you _ , too, and when I saw you I knew everything was fine."

"It is," he confirms, holding her gaze for a long moment before looking away somewhat sheepishly. "I know it must seem like I've been acting strangely lately, and I don't mean to be secretive, but--"

"Shhh," she interrupts him, placing her fingers over his lips to stop him, then leaning down to kiss him until she is certain he has forgotten what he intended to say altogether. "I trust you."

"Good," he growls more than says, pulling her closer with his one good arm and kissing her again.

"Just so we're clear," she pulls away after a moment, as far as his grip will allow her, "if you're dying, I'll kill you."

He laughs, falling forward against her shoulder. "I'm not dying." He nips at her playfully, then closes his mouth around her, lips and tongue moving slowly across her skin. “Far from it.”

"If you're planning a career change that will take you out of state, I'll kill you," she adds, closing her eyes in enjoyment but pretending to ignore his ministrations.

"Nope," he barely bothers to lift his head long enough to reply.

She rolls onto her back, baring her neck to him, all further worst-case scenarios drifting out of her mind. Whatever it is, if it is anything at all, it must be something good, and  _ this_, at any rate, is very,  _ very _ good...

"Is it the article?" Her eyes fly open suddenly and she sits up halfway, her hands on his chest to keep him at bay. "You haven't been dealing with that on your own..."

He shakes his head, laughing in spite of himself. "Don't you ever stop?"

She smirks back at him. "You know me."

"Diane, nothing bad is happening. And I can't read the future but as far as I can see nothing bad is  _ gonna _ happen either, to me, to you, or to us." He looks at her for a long time, trying to understand. Finally, he simply asks. "What are you really afraid of?"

She looks back at him blankly for a moment, not sure of the answer herself. She has considered and ruled out every logical possibility, she knows. It isn't him that's worrying her, or their past, or any outside circumstances -- they've faced down enough of those by now she can be sure they always will. But still, in the back of her mind, the thought is there.

"Losing you." She blurts it out before she can take a moment to consciously consider it. She pulls away from him, sitting up and backing against the headboard, needing to put some distance between them to make sense of that herself. "I know, that isn't going to happen. I'm not going anywhere, you're not going anywhere. And we've come so far."

"We aren't going to make the same mistakes again," he agrees.

She sighs, as if letting it go once and for all. "It's just the stress of the election finally getting to me, I suppose. I'm actually nervous!" she laughs as if it has just hit her all at once, then shakes her head, marveling at what is about to happen. "One way or the other, my life is going to change completely tomorrow.  _ Our _ lives. I want you in it, every step of the way, Kurt."

"So, I tell you what," he says, grinning back at her. "You be nervous enough for the both of us, I'll be excited enough for the both of us, and by this time tomorrow, I bet we even each other out."

"Oh?" she raises her eyebrows in question.

He reaches out a hand searching for her hip, pulling her back toward him again, and tugging the sheet slowly down her frame. "I, for one, am very excited for our lives after tomorrow."

"Really, why is that?" Her words are challenging but her body doesn't resist, wriggling until she is on her back again, smiling up into his eyes. She full well he is trying to distract her, but she does so enjoy being distracted.

He answers her with a kiss, throwing the sheet aside in one fluid motion before returning his hand to her body, slowly moving down the length of her side. Vaguely the thought comes to her, since his accident his good hand has learned to be more skillful than ever, first by necessity, and now, by need. She shivers as it wanders still lower, and a moment later the stroke of his hand chases thought from her mind altogether.


	48. Chapter 48

"Just another hour or so, and then we can get out of here," Diane whispers, leaning in to Kurt and giving him a discreet, one-armed squeeze around his waist before backing away to a more appropriate distance.

He nods amiably, in a far better mood than she would have imagined under the circumstances. She expected this to be torture for him, spending election night in a room full of Democrats cheering for the exact opposite results than he preferred. And added to that, though he hides it well, she knows he's still not entirely pain-free. Being jostled about by the milling crowd can't be fun. Despite all that, he's been positively frisky all evening, never passing up a chance to touch her in some way, some more appropriate than others. She should probably count herself lucky that he's down to one hand with which to pinch her ass.

She's a small fish in a big pond tonight, and most of those in attendance tonight at the Democratic National Committee function are far more interested in the higher-stakes Congressional races. She and Kurt have been left mainly to their own devices thus far, and even Eli has had little time for her, aside from the occasional hissed reminder to mingle. Even now, it's all about the donations.

Sighing softly, she turns around to scan the crowd, looking for her next victim. “Damn it," she swears when she spots a dark-haired woman, far under-dressed for the occasion in an ill-fitting black business suit talking to Eli on the other side of the room. As she watches, the political consultant reaches for his belt and makes a grand show of unbuckling it. Karen Fallbrook takes a step backward and raises her hands, unwittingly supplying him with just the setup he was seeking. Though they’re too far away for Diane to overhear, she’s seen this routine before and she smirks along with Eli as he invites the woman to kiss his ass.

When Karen happens to stalk off in their direction, she quickly turns back to Kurt. "Come on, let's go get a drink."

He laughs. "You want to run away and hide in a corner? I'm sorry, who are you?” Shaking his head he adds in a tone that brooks no argument, “No. We're staying right here."

He's right of course. Ignoring the rush of anger the sight of the reporter brings her, she steels her jaw and slides her arm through Kurt's. She can keep her temper under control; this is not the place to make a scene. Hopefully Kurt will do the same. Glancing over at him, she expects to find his jaw clenching tighter at each step the woman takes in their direction, but instead he looks mostly amused.

“Don’t worry, dear,” he says, leaning over to whisper in her ear. “I’m fine. Not even that tabloid hack can ruin tonight.”

“Tonight?” She supposes he could be talking about the election, but it’s not the first comment he’s made along those lines, and she’s starting to think that’s not what he’s talking about at all. She’s been all but assured of a win from the beginning, and they’ve been operating under that assumption for months. No, she doesn’t think it’s the election at all that has him in such good humour, but before he can answer or she can speculate further, Karen is upon them.

“Good evening, Ms. Lockhart,” she says. “Mr. McVeigh. I’m glad I ran into you tonight. I think I owe you an apology." Her tone is both sickly sweet and patently false. "I’m afraid the profile I published recently may have caused you some embarrassment. I’m very sorry for…”

Diane, her eyes narrowing further with every word of Karen’s speech, is about to cut her off and then cut her to pieces before Kurt beats her to it.

“Sorry for what, Ms. Fallbrook?” he interrupts. “As you can see from the results board, Diane is about to win her race by a landslide. No one of any intelligence believed your accusations or were impressed by your attempts to drag our personal life through the mud. You’ve done no harm to us, Ms. Fallbrook. We aren’t _embarrassed_. If you owe an apology to anyone it’s your employers, for damaging their reputation as a legitimate newspaper. They, and you, are the ones who should be embarrassed. Now, if you’ll excuse us.”

Letting Kurt pulls her away, Diane simply shrugs at the other woman, who is left standing there open-mouthed. He’s right; she’s worth no more of their time.

Eli is now holding court at a table near the sound system where he can easily see the bank of televisions showing the full range of networks reporting on the incoming results. Spotting their approach, he waves his arms, and attempts to gesture them over.

Diane holds up one finger, a request of him to wait one minute that she knows full well he won't appreciate, but she has something else on her mind. Liberating two glasses of champagne from a passing tray, she hands one to Kurt, then pulls him over against the wall and away from the general horde of people that are always gathered in Eli's vicinity.

She turns to stand directly in front of him and raises her glass.

"Isn't it a little early for a celebratory toast?" he asks, raising one eyebrow along with his own glass.

"Oh, I don't know,” she says, lifting her free hand ostensibly to straighten his tie. I suppose that depends on what one is celebrating." She slides her fingers up and down between his tie and dress shirt suggestively. His coolly disdainful dismissal of the reporter had been incredibly arousing.

“Oh? What would you like to be celebrating, Justice Lockhart?”

“I thought perhaps you might have some suggestion.”

He shoots her a lopsided grin, then tilts his head, making a show of looking behind her. "I think Eli wants you."

She turns to find that, sure enough, smoke is starting to rise from Eli’s ears, but Kurt would normally not be moved by that in the least. She looks back at him, unmoved. “He can wait.”

“Come on,” he says, ignoring her protest. “Let’s go see what he wants.” Without waiting for an answer he ambles off in the direction of the cluster of tables, leaving her staring after him with a bemused smile.

She thinks… _thinks_ …she’s finally onto what he’s been up to. Something he wants kept secret, but nothing she should worry about. And judging by his vague references to today being special in some way that doesn’t seem to have anything to do with the election, she’s betting his plan is tonight. A surprise marriage proposal is the only thing she can think of that makes sense.

At first she thought he might do it before the party, so she did her best to stay available to him despite the demands on her attention election day was causing. But nothing came of it, not at dinner, not later when they were dressed in their party clothes and waiting for the car.

Surely he isn’t planning on doing it here, in front of everyone? That seems unlikely, but if he thinks that’s what she would want…or if he’s trying to make a point to everyone who may have read that awful article…She really doesn’t know what to expect at this point. Onto him she may be, but she still finds herself bracing for the surprise at any moment.

Kurt has taken a seat at Eli’s table, but the other man is ignoring him in favour of shooting death rays out of his eyes at her, so she pushes the subject from her mind for now and walks over to them, taking the free chair between them.

“Thank you, Eli,” she says facetiously, “for waiting so patiently for me to finish my conversation before demanding my presence. Now, what can I do for you?”

Eli rolls his eyes dramatically. “Well, Diane, if a conversation with your…er…significant other is more important than an update on the election in which you’re just about to be declared the winner, consider that information duly noted for future reference.”

His words are sarcastic but she knows him well enough to read his tightly clenched lips as an attempt to hold back a triumphant grin. “Declared the winner?” she repeats, raising an eyebrow.

Giving up the pose, he nods, a smile transforming his stern face into something almost boyish. “Yes, the winner. I’m waiting on final confirmation, but my sources say it will be called any minute.”

She spins in her seat and throws her arms around Kurt. “Kurt, I won!”

He laughs. “You don’t say.” But he leans over to kiss her anyway, his good hand sliding into her hair as he does.

On her other side, Eli suddenly stands. “Turn up the television,” he shouts into the general din. “They’re calling the Supreme Court seat!”

Diane stands as well, hauling Kurt up out of his seat too.

" _And at this hour, with most of the important Congressional and local races still too close to call..."_

Kurt crosses his good arm over the one in the cast, making a somewhat awkward show of his displeasure. "A Supreme Court seat isn't important?"

She grins and bumps her shoulder against his.

_"...We're ready to call the open Cook County Supreme Court seat for Diane Lockhart, the Democrat from Chicago."_

The room erupts in cheers as it has periodically throughout the night, and a swarm of people close around Diane to offer their congratulations, making her turn her attention away from Kurt for longer than she would like. He hangs back, allowing her to revel in her moment of triumph, shaking hands with the party luminaries and big donors Eli was forever worrying would turn away from her. Tonight, at least, they know they have backed a winner and greet her like one; she will enjoy that for as long as it lasts. As soon as tomorrow she fully expects them to come looking to cash in on those favors.

After several minutes, another cheer goes up and the group around her moves on to the next round of winners and losers. She looks across the space that has opened up to see Kurt, waiting patiently, beaming in unabashed admiration at her, and suddenly it is as if there is no one else in that crowded hotel ballroom at all. He is the only person she really wants to celebrate with.

She closes the distance between them, holding his gaze for a long, meaningful moment before wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him soundly.

"Think I'm gonna enjoy kissing a Supreme Court Justice," he says with a chuckle when she finally pulls back.

"Is it any different?" she asks with a wry smile.

"I can sense the authority. It's pretty sexy."

She laughs, shoving him playfully. "I wanted to thank you," she says, becoming slightly more serious.

"For what?"

"For putting up with all this craziness over these last few months, for being my rock, my voice of reason, my greatest distraction," she giggles, leaning in close to kiss him again briefly. "For being by my side through it all. This was my dream, you know, it has been for a very long time. But it wouldn't mean half as much, if I couldn't share it with you."

"There's nowhere I'd rather be."

She smiles back at him through the tears in her eyes, holding his face in both hands as if he is the most precious thing in the world to her, and, she knows very well by now, he is. Slowly, she pulls his face toward her again and kisses him as if they were alone in the world.

"Actually..." he says, pulling back after long moments. "I can think of a lot of places I'd rather be -- _with_ you."

She grins, looking around. "Too many Democrats for you?"

He makes a face as if he is in a great deal of pain. "Yep. I just need one."

"Do you have someplace in mind you'd like to whisk your one and only Democrat off to?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," he says, a devilish smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Unless you need to stay--?"

Diane looks around at her compatriots and supporters, spots Eli deep in conversation with another of his protégés who does not yet know the outcome of his race. She feels a twinge of guilt about leaving, but it lasts all of a second. She will be forgiven for slipping out, if it's noticed at all. This is her night, and if she's right, it will be in more ways than one -- she is eager to get on with whatever Kurt has planned.

"No. Let's get out of here." She grabs his wrist, smiling conspiratorially. "Quickly. While no one's looking."

Giddily, she turns to stride out of the room as fast as her gown will allow her, a laughing Kurt in tow.


	49. Chapter 49

"Where are we going exactly?" Diane asks after several minutes in the backseat of the cab, alternately stealing kisses and glances out of the window. She began wondering when they passed the last street that might make a plausible route home, and now places they had shared a romantic moment in the past are racing through her mind. She thinks of several, remembering dates and rendezvous and quiet little moments all over the city, but Kurt directs the driver past each one, giving directions rather than a destination.

"Just wait," he says, squeezing her hand as he holds it in his lap.

_ Just wait. _ She rolls her eyes and turns away so he can't see, but smiles, looking out the window as they turn onto Wacker. As if waiting for anything had ever been her strong suit. She has half a mind to lunge at him and rifle through his jacket pocket until she finds the small box she knows he has hidden away in there. Considering his bad arm, she's fairly certain she can take him in a fight.

Five years ago she knew she was done waiting. She shook her head and looked him straight in the eye and told him she didn't need to think for another second to know she wanted to marry him. And now, after all they've been through, she isn't sure she can wait five more minutes.

"Kurt--"

She turns back to him and starts, but in the same moment he is leaning forward toward the driver, oblivious to her, or pretending to be.

"Anywhere along here you can pull over will be fine."

The car pulls up to the curb and as Kurt pays the driver, Diane realizes he has brought them back to the Riverwalk. The last time they were here, strolling beside the water until late, both exhausted but equally unwilling to let it end, had felt like a new beginning for them. She left him that night certain, finally certain, that they could get through anything together -- and, sure enough, they had faced a good deal more since then, emerging from each test stronger and more sure. What a lovely place indeed to start the rest of their lives together.

"You okay?"

She turns to find him studying her with some bemusement, and she wonders how long she has been lost in thought. "Perfect. Everything's perfect."

His eyes narrow slightly in confusion or suspicion, and she turns away quickly, not wanting to let him know the game is up. On second thought, she can wait a few more minutes. She would like to see how he intends to let this play out.

She opens the door and slides out, turning around to see if he needs a hand. She offers him her arm as he stands, looking somewhat sheepish as he steadies himself against her. He would prefer not to need help, tonight more than ever, but she knows he understands just as well as she does now. This is what they do. Physically, emotionally, mentally... they are here to support each other.

"Too cold?" he asks suddenly as they stroll toward the river.

"Not too cold," she smiles over at him, but makes a point of snuggling a little closer.

In response, he unlinks their arms and slides his around her, his hand running up and down her other arm to warm her before settling around her waist. "Better?"

She hums her agreement, leaning her head against his shoulder.

They walk along in silence for several minutes, Diane content to let him gather his thoughts, in no rush now to speed this moment along. Her stomach turns a somersault every time she feels him move unexpectedly, imagining he is reaching into his breast pocket when he is only adjusting his sling.

"Is that bothering you?" she asks, looking over at him.

"Nah, not much."

They walk on, and Diane tries to focus on the play of the stars and the moon on the water, recalling the same view, and many of the same feelings, that night months ago. She has the strangest sensation of feeling on edge, expectant, and yet at the same time, utterly calm. Just like that night, so much is still not yet spoken, not yet decided. And so much is absolutely right, without need of a single word.

She squeezes him lightly; and, she hopes, encouragingly. She can wait... but she does want those words sometime tonight.

"I'm so proud of you, Diane," he says almost immediately, as if stirred back to life.

"Proud? We knew I was going to win."

"Not just that. It's the way you go after what you want, and get it. You know, you said this was your dream. But  _ you _ made it reality." He stops walking suddenly, and turns to face her. "I mean it. You're my hero."

She is deeply moved, but almost breathless with anticipation, her mind on high alert:  _ this is it, this is it, this is it! _ He must have noticed her reaction shift from one to the other, because she sees that trace of suspicion wash over his face again, as if wondering what she knows, or what she thinks she knows.

With a sideways smirk, he turns away again and leads her toward the river, perhaps realizing that whatever she expects to happen, he has the upper hand this time. He could draw her torment out indefinitely, if he chooses.

She follows him, intertwining her fingers with his again, biting back a smile. Silently she admonishes herself to play along and not get too far ahead of him.

He leads them over to the railing overlooking the water, leaning his good arm against it as he turns to face her again. She realizes this is, near as she can tell, just about the exact spot where they had kissed that night, and in the next instant she makes a valiant attempt at erasing that recognition from her face.

He clears his throat, and for the first time she senses that he is just as nervous as she is. But when she looks into his eyes, she knows he is also just as certain.

"Diane, I want you to have everything you want in your life. The judgeship is a huge part of that, and I am so glad to see that happen for you," he says, beaming at her.

She nods, smiling, not trusting her voice to say anything now without betraying the emotion behind it.

"And it took me a long time to really believe, but another part of what you want in your life, I think -- I  _ know _ ," he amends, looking down and then back up again, his eyes not leaving hers now. "Is me."

She nods again, tears coming to her eyes now. Her voice breaks, but she says it anyhow. "Of course I want you, Kurt. I can't imagine my life without you in it."

_ This is it. This is it. _

He looks at her as if dazzled, and then completely lost in her eyes, and for a moment she thinks he has forgotten why he brought them here altogether. But then his eyebrows furrow as if straining, and she is so dazzled herself that she does not immediately realize what he is doing. His hand grips the railing as he struggles to lower himself without toppling over, compensating for his busted arm and aging knees. He lets out a muffled groan, then tries to put one knee down.

"Don't, don't," she leans forward, her hands on his shoulders to pull him back up, trying not to sound as if she is laughing at him. She is touched by the gesture, but he does look rather ridiculous. "Please, you don't have to do that."

He stands up straight again, and he is laughing himself, without a trace of self-consciousness now. All she sees in his face is happiness and mirth and love, and she joins him in laughter now, shaking her head.

"Yeah, that's not going to happen," he grins back at her. "I thought I could. I wanted to do it right."

" _ This _ is right," she says firmly, gesturing between them.

"It sure is," he says, his laughter gradually relaxing into utter solemnity. He reaches into his breast pocket, just as she had imagined him doing dozens of times all day, and extracts from it a little black velvet box, the same one her mind had conjured. But the diamond he offers to her, and the look on his face as he says the words, are more beautiful and more real than anything she could have dreamed.

"Diane, will you marry me?"

She doesn’t hesitate, not even for a second. “Yes,” she breathes, almost before he can complete the question. “Yes. A thousand times yes.” By her third acceptance, she’s crying openly, and when she steps forward and reaches out to cup his face in her hands, she finds tears there as well. She wipes them away with her thumb, an instant before he leans forward to kiss hers from her cheek.

“I love you so much,” she says while he’s still close, turning her head to kiss the corner of his mouth.

He backs away before he responds in kind, crooked smile lighting up his eyes as he repeats her words back to her. He then holds out the open ring box to her again. “You’re going to have to take it out,” he says with a self-conscious shrug of his sling supported arm.

She does so, pulling the ring from its black velvet cradle and holding it up to the light of a streetlamp while he returns the box to his pocket. It’s Art Deco in style, yellow gold, the band narrow at the back and engraved with a leafy design, then widening to accommodate the setting. The centre diamond is a beautiful old European cut of about a carat, accented on each side with three levels of smaller stones. It’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen, not only for what it is, but because he has chosen it for her, he who knows her better than anyone. It couldn’t be more perfect.

He removes the ring from her grasp and she holds out her hand, fingers extended and spread slightly apart. In movies, she thinks, the woman’s hand always trembles at moments like this, but hers, now, is as steady and still as granite.

She’s never been more certain of anything in her entire life.

He slides the ring onto her finger and she flexes her hand a couple of times, getting used to it, the weight of it, the texture of the band between her fingers. She turns then so she’s standing with her back to him and holds her hand up face level. His arm comes around her waist, pulling her back against him.

“What do you think?” she asks, wiggling her fingers.

“Perfect,” he says, his lips finding a favoured spot on her neck.

“Are you even looking?” she asks, laughing.

“I know what it looks like. I bought it,” he says, nudging her until she tilts her head more to the side. He kisses the hollow beneath her ear until she sighs happily, and turns in his arms, taking his face in her hands and kissing him fiercely.

“Let’s go home, Madam Justice,” he says when they part. “It’s been a hell of a night.”

Until that moment, she had managed to forget about the election, her win, and all that she’ll need to deal with beginning in the morning. He’s right; they should get home. She slides her hand into his.


	50. Chapter 50

Later, she's standing in front of her jewellery box when he comes out of the bathroom, holding her old wedding band in the palm of her hand as she examines it thoughtfully.

"Does it match?" he asks, coming up behind her to see what she’s doing.

Picking it up from her palm, she slides it on next to her new ring, then holds her hand out to examine the effect. The tone of the gold matches perfectly, but something isn't quite right. The styles are a bit different, her old ring perhaps a bit too wide to wear as part of a set, but no, those details are not what really bothers her.

Every day for three years she had looked at this ring and known she was loved. She wants that feeling again, wants to be able to look at her hand in the middle of a busy day in court or a lonely evening at home alone, and not be reminded of anything other than her husband’s love for her. She wants him to be able to look at his ring and know the same of her. Their beginnings, the good and the bad, are part of who they are and will be a part of the fabric of their life together, but they can’t let the past define their new marriage. They need symbols that speak to the future.

"Not yet," she says, answering his question as she takes off the old ring and puts it away. "But they will."

He harrumphs in acknowledgement, if not full understanding, and walks over to his side of the bed, pulling back the covers and easing down between them. She watches as he arranges himself, getting comfortable as best he can under the circumstances. Stretching awkwardly for the bedside lamp, he catches her watching.

"What?"

She shakes her head at his stubbornness. "Let me get that." She walks over and switches off his lamp, then sits beside him. "I was just thinking about the first time we did this."

"Our first wedding?" he asks.

"Our first engagement."

He laughs. "Went a little differently that time.” He picks her hand up from her lap and laces their fingers together. The pressure of his finger against her ring is strange and familiar and comforting all at once.

"You mean I didn't have to talk you into it this time," she says, her words teasing, but the meaning behind them not. She's wondered from time to time over the last two years, how things might have gone if they had waited and thought about marriage before jumping in. Would they have talked out their issues that much sooner, avoiding the problems to come in their marriage? Or would they have continued to drift in and out of focus, casually breaking one another’s hearts again and again? Would they still be stuck in that pattern today, or would they have eventually lost touch altogether?

"You didn't talk me into anything I didn't already want for myself, Diane. You know that," he says seriously, bringing her back to the present. "But all the same, I think we're off to a better start this time." He rubs the underside of her ring with his thumb.

He's right, of course. And there’s no purpose to be served in second-guessing those days now. Perhaps they had taken the long way, but they have found their way at last. "I think so too," she agrees simply. After leaning forward to kiss him she moves to stand, then falls back to the bed when he fails to release her hand.

He looks suddenly like a little boy with a secret, eyes sparking in with mischief, even as his face maintains its deadpan facade.

"What?" she asks suspiciously.

"Just wondering if you've thought yet about where you want to have the wedding."

She hasn't really, but now she speculates aloud. "I suppose we could just go to the courthouse again. That was fine last time. Or we could wait until spring and do it outside at the farm..."

"Nope,” he interrupts firmly. “No waiting. And no 'fine'," he adds with a tinge of contempt at her choice of descriptor.

"Okay," she says, eyebrows raised, dragging out the word questioningly. Clearly he as something else in mind. "Did you have a suggestion you want to share?"

In lieu of an answer, he releases her hand and pulls back the covers on her side of the bed. "Come over here," he says, nodding to the spot beside him.

This had been her intention before he stopped her, but she resists the urge to roll her eyes and point this out to him. She gets up and walks around the bed, dropping her robe on the chair as she passes and climbing into bed beside him.

"Now, remember you love me," he begins, putting his arm over her shoulder and sliding his fingers under the spaghetti strap of her nightgown. "Because I do have a _small_ confession to make."

Drawing back just far enough that she can see his face, she examines it for clues. Long ago she had learned that taking conversational cues from his expression could be misleading, so she’s taught herself to see beyond his poker face. His eyes are still sparkling with unexpressed glee as his fingers continue to toy with her strap. He is mocking her gently; he isn’t really worried.

As if in confirmation of her conclusion, he suddenly smiles and it’s like the sun breaking through the clouds. She smiles back, snuggling closer. “Kurt, what did you do?”

“I bought a house.”

"I -- What --" Her mouth moves uselessly, unable to form words in response to the last thing she expected to hear. She is all the more confounded by his obvious enjoyment at her reaction. "You did _what?_ "

"Well, almost bought. I guess you could get us out of it, if you wanted to. Perks of marrying a lawyer."

She pulls away from his embrace, putting the strap that had fallen down her shoulder back in place and turning to face him squarely. "What house?"

He grins back at her. "You know what house."

She shakes her head, not understanding at all. "But Rebecca told me it was sold."

"To me. It was sold to me. Well, to us, if you haven't changed your mind about that."

"Are you kidding me?" she asks, her voice incredulous at first, steadily rising in disbelief and feigned anger. " _Are you kidding me?_ "

He begins to laugh, unable to control himself. "You called her the day I went down there to accept the last counter-offer; she had no idea what to say to you--"

She shoves his good shoulder, her eyes going wide. "That was you -- I _heard_ you! Kurt, I was crushed when she told me it was sold."

"I'm sorry, I _am_ sorry about that," he says, putting up his hand in contrition, although it doesn't stop his laughter. "I had hoped the timing would work out better."

"That's where you kept sneaking off to," she says, shoving him again, harder, at her realization.

"Yep," he grins.

She lets out an exasperated groan, hitting him again and again, playful and conscious of the parts that are still sore but meaning it all the same. He takes her abuse for a while, laughing and deflecting her blows, then finally captures one of her wrists in his good hand and pulls her to him. She follows, a willing captive, letting her hands come to rest on his chest and her lips against his.

"Is it really ours?" she whispers, not wanting to pull away even if he'd let her.

"I told you. I want you to have everything."

"But why all the secrecy?" she asks, shaking her head. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted everything to be perfect."

"Oh, Kurt. It always would have been perfect. I don't need grand gestures."

"It's not just that." He sighs, letting his head fall back against the headboard. "I realized it, that day we went to look at the house. Maybe it's silly, but. Look, I was always going to propose to you tonight. I've been planning that for a long time."

"Yeah?" she asks with a smirk.

"Yeah," he confirms. "And I wanted to look for a house in Springfield, I know I started that conversation, but I didn't expect to find our dream home the very first day. I figured it would take some time to get you warmed up to the idea, then to find a place, to negotiate a sale... Then the first place you see, you're ready to move in."

"I don't understand the problem."

"I didn't want to buy a house with you as tenants in common, like we're roommates, like we're business partners. I want to buy a house with you as husband and wife."

"So it was in that spirit that you decided to buy a house without me at all?" she asks pointedly, but her smile gives her away.

"I knew it would sound stupid when I said it out loud," he laughs, looking away.

"No, I get it. And it's not stupid at all." She leans forward again, kissing his cheek to bring his attention back to her. "You wanted to buy it as a married couple, and you could hardly tell me that and spoil the proposal."

"That was the challenge," he says wryly.

"Well, forgive me if I don't feel too badly for you. I thought you'd gone off the idea of living with me." She shoves him one last time for good measure.

"Never."

She collapses back against her pillow, her mind whirring with a thousand thoughts at once. So many changes in such a short time; she doesn’t even know where to begin in planning out the next several months of her life.

Abruptly, she turns her head to look again at Kurt. He’s still watching her, now with a combination of trepidation and amusement. “Is there any more?” she asks. “Because it’s not quite midnight yet, if there’s anything else we need to fit into this day.”

“Just one thing,” he smiles crookedly, then hastens to add: “Well, not another thing; just a little bit more to the last thing.”

“What?” she asks cautiously.

“Well, I was thinking our new house might be a nice place for a wedding…”

Diane is immediately brought back to moment she first saw the beautiful staircase in the middle of the great room of the house. She had imagined herself walking down it to join Kurt in front of the fireplace to make their vows to each other. It seems that once again he’s been reading her mind, but… She frowns. “Didn’t you say you wanted to buy as a married couple? We can’t have the wedding there if we don’t close on the sale until after we’re married.”

“Well,” he says, reaching over and patting her leg, “you still haven’t heard the full account of my hardline negotiating skills…learned at the foot of the master, I might add.”

She smirks. “Go on.”

“The sale closes January 2; however, your brilliant husband-to-be made the offer contingent upon the owners leasing the place to me for the month of December. So not only can we move in early, we can also get married there. I was thinking New Year’s Eve.”

_New Year’s Eve._ She likes the symbolism: a new year and a new house for their new start. The great room all decorated with fairy lights and greenery for the holidays; a big tree in the corner, the scent of pine and cinnamon in the air. Dancing in the sunroom under the stars, perhaps some light snow drifting down on the other side of the glass. Counting down to midnight with their closest friends and family…or they might just sneak off alone to ring in the New Year privately.

“Diane?”

Kurt’s prompting brings her back to the present and she realizes she has yet to react outwardly to his plan. She corrects that oversight now, throwing back the covers and rolling over to straddle him. Careful not to jar his arm, she stretches out until she’s lying fully on top of him, leaning on her elbows on either side of his head, their faces nose to nose.

“You are the most wonderful man in the world,” she tells him between soft quick kisses. “I can’t believe you planned all of this and managed to keep it a secret.”

He wraps his arms around her waist, the good one tightly, the other just lightly resting across her back. “I thought for sure you had it figured out when you kept questioning me yesterday.”

She drops her head to the crook of his neck. She may have realized the proposal was coming, but she certainly had no idea of the full extent of his plans. He had put so much thought into all of this, just to make her happy.

“I knew something was up,” she allows, “but you’ve outdone even my wildest dreams. How did I get so lucky, hmm?” She turns her head to kiss his neck.

His hand slides down to rest on her ass. “Well, as I recall, you needed a ballistics expert.”

“Ah yes, that’s right; I did. And who would have thought that day when the Marlboro Man walked into my office that here we would be today.”

He laughs. “The _what_? I don’t even smoke.”

She just shakes her head, laughing into his shoulder, remembering her first impressions of him. But truly, if someone _had_ told her of the future that day ten years past, she would have laughed it off but she doesn’t know that she would have been too terribly surprised. Right from the beginning, there had been some kind of irresistible force between them, something on the level of magnetism or gravity, or maybe something less scientific and more spiritual for which she has no name. All she knows is that this has always been where she was meant to be.

“Never mind,” she says, lifting her head to press her lips to his. She’ll explain later. Much later.

 


	51. Chapter 51

"What about this?" 

Diane wrinkles her nose thoughtfully as she turns to consider the worn, unsightly, but infinitely  _ comfortable _ sofa Kurt is gesturing to.

"I don't know..."

They've only been at it for an hour, trying to make an inventory of Kurt's old farmhouse, deciding what will come with them when they move and what must go. Already they've had a handful of minor disagreements and haven't come to a single decision. 

"Not for the formal living room, of course, but maybe by the fire?"

She tries to picture it. Even in a cozier setting done in, say, a woodsy theme, the piece would look frightfully out of place and shabby. But her imagination quickly shifts to memories many nights spent curled up on that very sofa, talking for hours -- or, just as often,  _ not _ talking. For hours.

She shakes herself out of it and frowns doubtfully. "I just don't think it would work."

Her sentimentality is entirely at odds with her decorating instincts.

He sighs, and she can hardly blame him for beginning to lose his patience. "At this rate we're going to have to throw it all out and start over."

"No, no," she waves the notion aside as if it were completely absurd. "I'm not trying to make everything to my taste, honestly."

"Well, do you actually like any of this?"

"Yes. I like all of it." She shoots him a look of complete seriousness and adds, pointedly: " _ Here_."

He laughs, shaking his head. "Let's not start that debate again."

"Why not?" She moves to close the distance between them, adopting a playfully sulking attitude. That debate couldn't be any less fruitful than this one. 

"We can't keep up three homes. We agreed that would be crazy, didn't we?" He lets his hands fall to her waist and pulls her closer, as if that was ever any way to reason with her. "We'll keep your place for when we need to work in the city. But this place has got to go. It was only ever a bachelor pad, anyway."

"I'd hardly call this a bachelor pad." She screws up her face, looking around dubiously. "Loner in the woods, maybe..."

"So there you go. Let's get rid of it."

She lets out a long moan of frustration and indecision. Somehow, she wants it both ways. 

He changes tack, softening and giving her a long look as though he can read her mind if only he can land on the right page. "What is it exactly that's making this so hard for you?"

She meets his gaze, surprised. That, at least, she thought was obvious. "Because I fell in love with you here. This place, everything in it... It reminds me of some of the happiest times of my life."

"Afraid you're not going to love me there?" he smirks, teasing her.

She shoves him playfully, but quickly pulls him back in, her fingertips curling into the fabric of his shirt. "No chance of that."

He leans forward, kissing her sweetly and lingeringly. "You know I feel the same way, Diane, but... The place hardly matters. We fell in love in hotel rooms, too."

She sighs, knowing he's right. But as much as it's just a place, a place filled with some truly awful furniture, she's loathe to let it go. And as appealing as the thought of starting completely anew as they begin the rest of their lives is, at the same time she fully intends to take the best parts of who they were with them.

"Why don't we start a bit smaller, eh?" she suggests, deferring the major decisions for later. Perhaps after a few more hours of this, when she is tired and willing to do anything to call it a day, she can be more ruthless and practical about it.

She smiles and breaks free of his embrace, not quite letting go of his hand as she leads the way out of the living room and down the hall. A storage closet should be easy enough.

"Grab a few boxes, will you?" she suggests as she opens the door, quickly surveying the contents from top to bottom. "Let's sort this into what we can throw away, what we can donate, and what we can take."

This plan of attack proves to be a smart one, and soon they are readily agreeing and making quick work of it, laughing over the odds and ends that had accumulated in the years Kurt had lived there, much of it Diane had never seen. Before long, everything is off the shelves and hooks and sorted properly, most of it in the "Trash" pile which now causes her very little remorse. All that's left to go through are the few boxes piled along the wall. 

"Do you know what these are?" she asks, pulling one down. "Can we just leave them in these boxes and throw them out?"

"Oh, those are--" She can see the moment of realization cross his face, and knows before he says another word that these boxes are something very different. "No, I don't think we should throw those out."

Her stomach flips almost nervously as she dives in, opening the flaps of the box to see what's inside.

"Oh..." she sighs quietly as her hand closes around a picture frame.

She pulls it from the box, turning it around in her hands, knowing before she even sees it what it is. Them. Their wedding day, with Kurt in his best suit and her in a blue dress chosen specifically because he liked the colour on her. The rushed photo was snapped before they were ready, so they beam at each other instead of the camera, their faces full of love and hope for the future. She touches her index finger to the glass, tracing it over their images.

“So,” Kurt says, his voice as rough as she’s ever heard it, “If you knew then what you know now…?”

He leaves the rest of the question unsaid, but she knows what he’s asking.

“I wouldn’t change a thing,” she tells him, blinking away the moisture in her eyes. “There are many things I regret about our past, but not that day. Not a single minute of that day.”

Reaching over, she gives his hand a squeeze then stands, leaving the storage closet and walking out to the living room where she sets the picture back in its former spot on the mantel, next to the one of Kurt and Justice.

He comes up behind her and completes the trio, adding another framed photograph to the group – the one he took of her at a gun range. Goggles and ear protection hide most of her face, but the look of intense concentration on her face is striking. She smiles, remembering the day. She had done well for herself.

“We’re just going to have to pack these up again soon, you know,” he comments as he adjusts the angle of the frames.

“I know. But until then…” She allows the sentence to trail off, shrugging. It just feels right to have them back where they belong, even if this weekend becomes the last real time they spend here.

Kurt nudges the frame holding him and Justice into alignment with the other two, then steps back to examine the effect. “I think the old girl would be pleased with how things turned out, don’t you?” he asks.

Diane smiles, stepping closer and snaking her arm around his waist. “I do. I think she would be pleased to have played a part in getting her family back together.”

He chuckles and wraps his arm around her shoulders, giving her a little squeeze. “Yep. And her picture will have a place of honour on the mantel of the new house, maybe next to one of her new brother or sister.”

Startled, Diane looks over at him in surprise. “Another dog?” She recalls suggesting they get one as a way of reassuring him she would be fine alone in the Springfield house when he wasn’t there, but she hadn’t thought of it seriously. She can’t imagine either of them will have the time to train a puppy.

But he’s nodding as he runs his hand up and down her arm, already several steps ahead of her.  “A buddy of mine, his lab just had a litter. They’re too young to go anywhere yet, and we’re going to be busy for the rest of the year anyway, but he said if we want one, he’ll keep it for us until after we get back from Costa Rica, and have it all trained up and ready to go. We could go see them later, if you want, maybe pick one out?”

Another dog. She can’t deny she’s missed having one around since Justice has been gone. And it  _ would _ be nice to have company when their schedules keep them apart. Labradors are so big though; she’s only ever had small breeds. Maybe they should wait for a while, consider other options.

But when she looks over again at Kurt, she finds him watching her intently, waiting for her response.  _ This wasn’t just a casual suggestion_, she realizes at once.  _ He really wants this_. An image appears spontaneously before her eyes, that of a faded old photograph of a young boy with a rifle and a dog at his feet – a chocolate Lab, if her memory serves.

And all at once the sensation of perfect  _ rightness _ washes over her, a feeling she has enjoyed precious few times in her life, as fleeting as it is fantastic. She can see it all stretch behind them, the years they spent together and the years long before they ever met; the years that are left ahead of them, full of new adventures she doesn’t yet know but can  _ feel_. And this present moment, this perfect, beautiful man standing in front of her, his hand held out to her in offer one more time. Still.  _ Always. _

She smiles. “Sure, let’s go.”

Kurt’s face splits into a grin.


	52. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: If you haven't already been here today, and you skipped right to the last chapter, you might want to back up one. We posted two tonight!

The room is alight with golden-white fairy lights, woven in with fragrant boughs of pine and shiny red berries. A fire roars in the huge stone fireplace with enough logs stacked beside to keep it going strong until after midnight. Above it, the mantle holds candles, greenery, and three photographs in matching frames. Several more will join them in the weeks and months to come, including one or two from this very night.

In the corner opposite the fireplace, the Christmas tree stands ten feet tall, gleaming with more golden-white lights, and decorated with ribbons, beads, and delicate glass balls, all in tones of red and gold that compliment the gold of her dress.

The furniture has been rearranged to create an open area in front of the fire where she and Kurt will make their vows to each other in front of her old friend Judge Charles Abernathy. It will be short and simple for public consumption; their real vows were made privately to one another long ago and are renewed every day in words and in deeds. All their closest friends and family will stand with them as witnesses, and then afterwards there will be food and drink and music. Diane smiles, imagining. She may even sing, if Charles brings his guitar.

She walks through to the kitchen where the caterers are busily preparing canapes and then into the sunroom where the buffet will be set up, and back again to the great room, nodding with approval all along the way. Everything is perfect, just perfect.

Crossing the room, she moves the draperies aside and peers out the large front windows. Snow has been falling steadily all day and now the trees and lawn have a cold but beautiful white glaze. From the safely of the warm house, she regards nature’s contribution to the decor with appreciation.

Off to the side, she notes a man pushing a snowblower to create a path from the improvised parking area to the front walkway. Diane shakes her head, amused but not surprised. She told him to hire someone to do that; he shouldn’t be clearing snow on his own wedding day, especially not with his arm only newly released from its plaster confines. She supposes she should consider herself lucky he’s not out with the truck, blade attached, clearing the driveway himself. Not yet, anyway.

She turns away from the window, smiling. That’s the man she loves.

***

“Come on, Lady Di, you must have a good story to tell about my brother. That’s what you’re supposed to do during these things; don’t you know anything?” Debbie teases in her rough but now familiar way.

Diane sits at the vanity set up in her guest room, Laura’s stylist elbow-deep in her hair, curling and spraying and twisting. She wonders if Kurt will even recognize her when she approaches the improvised altar. Though she has no official attendants, Debbie, Laura, and Joey’s girlfriend Shelly play the part, keeping her company while she waits for the ceremony to begin.

“I thought ‘these things’ were for getting one’s hair and makeup done, but if you say so…” she counters with a wry smile.

“I do. Right, girls?” Debbie looks first to Laura, who holds her champagne flute in front of her mouth as she tries not to laugh, and Shelly, who nods, seemingly disinclined to disagree with her boyfriend’s mother among virtual strangers.

“See,” Debbie pronounces from her spot on the bed, taking the silence for consensus. “They agree. Spill.”

Diane starts to shake her head as she laughs but stops at the stylist’s frown in the mirror. “Fine,” she says, trying to think of an amusing, g-rated story she can share. There was the time they went fishing and Kurt, trying to impress her with his cast, fell in the lake. But no, that was during their iffy early years and the story doesn’t have a particularly happy ending, now that she thinks about it.

Or maybe…well, it’s not _entirely_ g-rated, but she can slide over the details. So she launches into an abbreviated account of their first date, from accidentally-on-purpose running into him at the courthouse, up to their dramatic outing in open court. Sometime in the intervening decade the recollection has changed from humiliating to hilarious and she laughs along with the other women at the memory of their first time together becoming part of the official record in a murder trial. After all, _who else_ would that ever happen to?

“He couldn’t even wait for an objection?” Laura cackles. “He was an expert witness; he should have known better!”

Diane blinks hard, trying to avoid incurring the stylist’s disapproval by ruining her mascara with tears of laughter, then beams as she remembers his response. “That’s what _I_ said. He said he wasn’t ashamed of spending the night with a beautiful, intelligent woman and he didn’t feel the need to hide that from anyone. I should have known then he was a keeper. I guess I’m not as smart as he thinks sometimes.”

She catches Debbie’s eye in the mirror, waiting for agreement, but to her surprise, the other woman just shrugs. “Neither is he, but the important thing is you got your shit together eventually. Even if it took you a couple of tries.”

Diane nods in silent, grateful agreement. They’re doing it better this time, better right from the start.

“What do you think the men are talking about downstairs?” Laura asks after a beat.

“Motorcycles,” the other three women answer in unison.

***

She hadn't counted on feeling this nervous.

She isn't sure what she expected instead, now that she thinks about it, and she seems to have an age to think about it now, waiting at the end of the hall for her musical cue. She expected to feel eager, happy, _ready_ , she supposes. And she is all of those things, too. But none of that helps her rein in the nerves roiling through her.

It wasn't like this the first time. She remembers feeling relaxed then, composed and confident as she turned the corner in the courthouse hallway to see him standing there, stunned into speechlessness. What was different the first time, really, when it came down to it? Fewer witnesses, naturally, and although today's crowd is still relatively small, it has been built up into quite an event. She had less perspective then than she had gained in the intervening years; she is wiser, or more aware of what she has to lose, which may very well amount to the same thing. But it is still _them_. It is still the easiest, most right thing in the world to take those few steps to join him and begin their new life at last.

Perhaps it's all the harder precisely because she has been here before. She already knows what the look on his face will be, and how it will stop her heart.

It had taken an age but now it is happening all at once, first the opening notes of Pachelbel's Canon in D, and then she is moving ahead almost without her conscious decision or knowledge, each step somehow steady and sure, belying her inner turmoil. She stops at the top of the stairs, allowing herself a moment to soak in the reality of the vision she had so often entertained. The whole room below is turned to look at her, but she can see only one face.

Their eyes lock, and she sees exactly the expression he wore that day so many years ago, almost in awe of her and equally oblivious to the world around them. It occurs to her then what a precious and amazing thing it is that the one person who has seen every side of her -- sometimes maddening, sometimes disappointing, sometimes downright ugly -- can still see her that way.

She smiles down at him, and in an instant the last trace of her nerves are gone.

She is barely aware of closing the distance that remains between them; later, when they are alone and curled up by the fire with the wedding album, it will all come right back to her. In this moment, for all she knows, she might have floated down on a cloud.

Now she is standing next to him, their hands clasped, and it is all she can do to fight back the instinct to lean forward and kiss him -- not yet, not yet. She barely hears a word Charles says; the effort of studying his eyes and every line created by the smile on his face is absorbing every bit of her concentration. So focused is she that Charles has to prompt her twice when it is her turn to speak, and only dimly is she aware of the affectionate laughter from their guests in response.

Now he is reaching into his breast pocket for her ring, and Laura leans forward on cue to slip Diane his - the pair of them created by melting and recasting their original bands, the perfect metaphor for all the work they’ve done since that first meeting so many months ago. Now he is placing it on her finger with slow reverence, looking perfectly right. Now she is sliding his ring onto his finger, clasping her hands around his the moment she does, never wanting to let them go. They had designed the shortest and simplest ceremony possible, but Abernathy is still going on, inspired in the moment to an oratory on the glories of love.

"And it is my _absolute_ pleasure," he winds down, positively gushing, "to pronounce you husband and wife."

And now -- now? _Now_ she leans forward and kisses him, solemnly and soundly.

"Again?" he mutters, grinning between kisses.

" _Always_ ," she corrects, pulling him back in.

***

It means the world to Diane to have everyone she loves with her today, people from every corner of her life mingling with one another and wishing her well. A new year, a new career, a new house, a new life with the man she loves... For this one day, standing on the edge looking out at everything laid nicely and neatly before her, it all feels so perfect and so possible. It may get a good deal messier once she dives in, but it will certainly be one hell of an adventure.

But it is getting late, and standing here in this conversation circle she is becoming keenly aware of how long she has been on her feet in these heels. She has done the rounds a few times now, too often in a separate path from Kurt’s. Every time they wander into the same group, or even pull the other aside for a quick kiss, inevitably someone calls for one of them from across the room, and he is gone from her side again.

"Don't you think so, Diane?"

Diane turns back sharply to see Charles looking at her expectantly, waiting for the answer to a question she hasn't heard. She had been too lost in scanning the room for her husband, and had finally locked eyes with him the moment her attention was commanded.

"Well--" Distractedly, she tries to catch him again, but he's already gone.

She checks her watch and her eyebrows shoot up. She can't believe it's so late already. "Would you excuse me, for just a moment?" she asks, shooting her friends a smile that conveys no hint of apology.

If she can't get a message to him any other way, he'll certainly see this, she thinks as she winds through the living room, then becomes a streak of gold stealing down the hall.

She steps out of her shoes as soon as she has reached their bedroom, flexing her aching feet and reacquainting them with flat ground. Perhaps she'll ask him to start there later, remembering with a flash of desire just what a talented masseur he can be. She walks over to the window, thinking how lovely the sunrise will be in his arms, her back to his chest as they both look out over this view, his ringed hand covering hers.

A few minutes later, she hears the door creak open, and she smiles to herself. She knew he wouldn't take long to follow.

"Hard to believe, isn't it?" she asks without turning, enjoying the blanket of snowy yard and woods by moonlight, too.

He comes up behind her, his hands running slowly down her sides and settling at her waist. "That we made it this far?" he murmurs, the last words muffled as he places his lips against her neck.

"No," she says, inclining her head to one side, encouraging him to continue. "Hard to believe by this time tomorrow we'll be on a sunny, warm beach in Costa Rica."

He makes a vague humming sound against her skin in response, agreeing but already thoroughly distracted.

She turns to face him, disrupting his intentions but careful not to put too much distance between them, encouraging his hands to rest on her hips again as hers fall to his chest.

" _This_ I find very easy to believe."

"Me too," he smiles back at her, and it amazes her as it always does how such a modest smile can light up his whole face that way.

It was easy to believe, but hardly inevitable. Every stage of their relationship had been fraught with challenge, largely of their own making. But somehow, through the worst of it, through periods of long separation and putting their happiness last, in the back of her mind she always expected they would have another chance. And here they are. They won't need one more.

_"One minute!"_ she hears someone yell from down the hall, jarring her back to the present.

"Should we go back out for this?" he asks, stepping slightly back in a move to go.

"No," she says, so firmly it surprises him. "This is exactly where I want to be for this."

"All right..." he says slowly, his gaze traveling for a moment, and she can tell he's wondering if she means the bedroom specifically or alone with him more generally.

She laughs, shaking her head: it is the latter, although now that she thinks about it, she does hope the guests will take a hint and clear out shortly after midnight.

"I love that we had our family and friends with us this time around, Kurt -- and since I didn't let Laura help me with that part of the planning, _only_ our family and friends," she laughs again. "But when I think about how I want to start out the new year..."

_"Ten... nine... eight..."_

"All I really want is right here."

Her words hang in the air for a moment, both grinning at the other, but neither can wait for the countdown to finish before they lean in for their kiss. She wraps her arms around his neck, one hand threading through his hair as she pulls him toward her, something a little more than a quick peck at midnight in mind. And they are still kissing long after the crowd outside erupts into a shout...

_Happy new year!_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has followed along with us, and to all those who will read in the future. This fic was our therapy in dealing with the events of the finale and we hope that we've not only helped others cope with disappointment, but have also brought you some shippy joy as well.
> 
> Here's hoping 2017 will make all of this extremely AU in a good way! Happy New Year!


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